MATTHEW  SORTER 


MATTHEW  PORTER 

A  STORY  OF  TO-DAY 


By 
GAMALIEL  BRADFORD.  Jr. 

Author  of  "  The  Private   Tutor,"   "Between   Troo  Masters,"  etc. 


With  a  frontispiece  in  colour  by 
GRISWOLD   TYNG 


No  wit,  no  he lf>  like  a  woman's  " 

—  Thomas  Middleton. 


BOSTON       &      £       L.  C  PAGE  6- 
COMPANY      £      £         MDCCCCVUI 


Copyright,  1908 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(  INCORPORATED) 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  March,  1908 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  U.S.A. 


By?? 


80 


M555070 


MATTHEW  PORTER 


CHAPTER   I 

WILLIAM  J.  WOOD  and  his  nephew,  Dudley 
Heath,  were  dining  together  at  the  Beacon  Club 
in  Boston.  Wood  proposed  to  be  the  Republi 
can  boss  of  Massachusetts  and  United  States 
senator;  and  many  thought  his  ambitions  were 
likely  to  be  realized.  He  was  a  man  of  some 
thing  under  fifty,  with  a  clean-shaven  face,  light 
hair  and  gray  eyes,  and  a  solid  jaw. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  the  Presidential 
election;  and  as  Wood  had  just  come  back 
from  the  capital,  his  talk  naturally  turned  on 
the  prospects  there. 

"  It's  like  sitting  on  a  volcano,"  he  said. 
"  Nobody  can  tell  what  may  happen.  People 
that  like  sensations  ought  to  live  in  Washington. 
They'll  get  them." 

Then  he  spoke  of  Massachusetts  affairs,  of 
Governor  Worcester,  just  elected  for  a  second 
term,  who  would  certainly  not  stand  again  and 
was  Wood's  rival  for  the  Senate;  of  the  lieu 
tenant-governor,  Graham,  who  had  died  since 
the  election. 


2  MATTHEW  PORTER 

6  Yes,  Dudley,"  said  the  elder  man  at  length, 
"  I'll  put  you  in  for  Governor  next  fall." 

Heath  made  no  direct  answer.  "  Why  not  go 
up-stairs  and  have  a  smoke,  if  you've  finished? " 
he  suggested. 

They  went.  When  they  were  comfortably 
settled  in  opposite  corners  of  a  huge  sofa, 
Heath  resumed  the  conversation.  "  So  you 
think  I  should  make  a  good  governor? " 

His  uncle  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  face  of 
the  speaker,  before  replying.  It  was  a  hand 
some  face,  but  not  a  pleasant  one.  The  fore 
head,  the  dark  smooth  hair,  the  hazel  eyes  were 
well  enough;  but  the  nose  was  coarsely  prom 
inent  and  the  mouth  was  peculiarly  cynical  and 
sensual,  even  in  smiling.  "  No,"  answered  the 
Honourable  William  J.  "  You're  the  best  gov 
ernor  in  sight,  from  my  point  of  view;  but 
you  won't  make  a  good  governor,  from  any 
body's  point  of  view,  till  you  cut  out  that  sneer 
and  the  make-believe  of  not  believing  in  things. 
You're  cynical,  and  that  never  does  anybody 
any  good  —  least  of  all  the  owner." 

Heath  leaned  back  in  his  corner  and  smiled, 
with  more  cynicism  than  ever.  "  You're  not  a 
cynic,"  he  murmured.  "  You  do  believe  in 
things.  You  ought  to  be  in  the  church  instead 
of  politics." 

"  I  believe  in  myself,"  was  the  cool  answer. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  expect  me  to." 

Wood  disregarded  the  interruption,  and  con 
tinued.  "  I  believe  in  other  things,  but  that's 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  3 

none  of  your  business.  At  any  rate,  if  there  are 
a  few  things  I  don't  believe  in,  I  don't  go 
around  saying  so." 

"Do  I?"  inquired  the  injured  nephew. 
"  My  business  is  to  make  people  feel  that  I 
believe  what  they  believe.  I've  made  rather  a 
success  of  it,  I  fancy." 

"  You've  got  a  sort  of  useful  popularity. 
There's  no  denying  it.  The  public  doesn't  know 
you  as  well  as  I  do.  Anybody  would  suppose 
your  face  would  tell  the  secret." 

Heath  murmured  his  thanks  with  entire  im 
perturbability.  "  It's  a  face  that  has  fitted  a 
Massachusetts  representative  and  senator  pretty 
well  for  several  years.  It  will  fit  a  governor, 
don't  you  think?" 

"  Oh,  yes.    Any  face  will  do  that." 

Both  men  smoked  and  were  silent"  for  a  little, 
watching  the  comers  and  goers  in  the  room 
about  them.  Now  and  then  they  exchanged  a 
nod  or  brief  greeting  with  a  passer-by. 

At  length  Heath  recurred  to  the  subject. 
"  Speaking  of  cynicism,  there's  Mat  Porter. 
Some  say  he's  going  to  be  governor." 

Wood's  hard  jaw  set  harder.  "  That  Porter 
—  he's  no  cynic.  He  believes  in  himself  and  a 
lot  of  other  things  beside.  You  could  learn 
something  from  him." 

"Think  so?" 

"  Well,  no,  I  don't  think  so.  But  it  would  do 
you  good  to  try.  He's  a  man  we've  got  to  look 
out  for.  He  has  ideas,  and  they're  as  danger- 


4  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ous  as  dynamite.  I  never  shall  forget  the  way 
he  worked  that  factory  sanitation  bill  through 
the  legislature  last  spring.  The  money  and  the 
influence  were  all  on  the  other  side.  But  he  had 
his  men  hypnotized.  We  couldn't  do  anything 
with  them.  If  he  gets  up  for  governor,  we 
shall  have  to  fight.  He'll  show  whether  your 
smile  will  come  off  or  not.  But  the  Democratic 
committee  fellows  will  fight  him  as  hard  as  we 
shall.  You  know  him,  don't  you?  Up-country 
chap?  Came  from  Foxbridge,  didn't  he?" 

The  speaker  had  leaned  forward  and  asked 
his  questions  eagerly,  but  Heath  did  not  find 
the  eagerness  contagious  and  drawled  his  an 
swer  from  the  same  quiet  posture  in  the  corner. 
"  Yes,  I  know  Porter  —  more  than  I  want  to. 
We  were  classmates.  But  the  Foxbridge  people 
wouldn't  like  to  be  called  up-country.  The 
world  revolves  about  them.  No,  Porter's  no 
cynic,  just  the  sort  of  man  you  wish  I  were. 
If  I  were,  how  you'd  sneer  at  me!  His  father 
was  a  minister  and  I  fancy  it's  in  the  blood. 
The  father's  dead  now  and  Mat  lives  with  an 
older  sister.  He's  about  my  age,  I  suppose, 
thirty-five  or  so.  He's  got  a  little  money,  stud 
ied  law  and  is  good  at  it,  but  prefers  politics. 
He  was  a  hypnotizer,  as  you  say,  in  college, 
baseball,  debating,  all  that  sort  of  thing.  A 
thorough  athlete  —  not  heavy,  but  sound,  all 
bone  and  muscle,  never  done  up.  Not  the  Por- 
cellian,  —  Oh,  no.  But  a  fellow  everybody 
liked.  Now  he's  in  politics  for  ideas,  —  as 


MATTHEW  SORTER  5 

you  say;  and  a  dangerous  man,  —  as  you  say; 
and  the  Democratic  committee  fellows  hate  him, 
—  as  you  say.  But  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  a 
bit  if  he  was  too  many  for  them  —  and  for  us." 

"  And  all  we've  got  to  fight  him  with  is  you," 
commented  Wood,  in  a  tone  of  discouragement. 

"  Yes,  I'm  the  only  one  in  sight,  —  as  you 
say.  But  then  there  are  some  things  to  be  said 
for  me."  Here  the  cynic  sat  up  and  put  a  shade 
more  animation  into  his  manner.  "I'm  a  gen 
tleman  —  the  real,  dissipated,  idle,  swell  article, 
such  as  the  horny-handed  people  like.  I'm 
shrewd  and  know  a  trick  or  two,  as  you  can't 
deny.  I  can  adapt  myself  to  anything  or  any 
body.  That's  one  of  the  advantages  of  not  be 
lieving  in  anything,  and  it  helps  out,  even  when 
one  can't  hypnotize.  And  then  I  like  a  fight. 
I've  played  football,  and  I've  played  polo,  and 
I've  been  to  Cuba,  and  now  I  should  like  noth 
ing  better  than  a  fair  match  with  Mat  Porter 
-to  a  finish.  It  will  wake  me  up.  See?  " 

William  J.  Wood  saw,  and  his  spirits  seemed 
partially  revived.  "  Know  anything  about  Por 
ter's  ideas?"  he  asked.  "What's  he  going  to 
spring  on  us,  anyway?  " 

The  prospective  governor  did  not  answer 
until  he  had  ordered  a  Scotch  and  soda,  a  liba 
tion  in  which  his  uncle  declined  to  share. 
"  Mat's  ideas?  That  sort  of  thing  isn't  in  my 
line,  you  know.  I  never  meddle  with  ideas  of 
any  kind.  I  believe  he  wants  to  give  the  gov 
ernor  more  power,  says  the  legislature  is  an  irre- 


6  MATTHEW  PORTER 

sponsible  mob  and  would  like  to  call  it  down, 
rakes  over  the  committee  method  of  transacting 
business,  and  talks  about  the  Executive  —  with 
a  big  E  —  doing  something.  Fancy  it !  With 
a  score  of  governors  on  record  who  have  done 
nothing  in  such  a  beautiful  way  and  with  so 
much  credit! " 

"  Why,  he's  a  crank,"  exclaimed  William  J., 
in  utter  disgust. 

"  Oh,  no,  he  believes  in  things,  that's  all." 

"  Bosh !  A  man  can't  work  politics  with  such 
notions  as  that." 

"  But  you  see  he's  a  hypnotizer,  as  you  justly 
pointed  out.  A  crank  who  can  hypnotize  is  the 
kind  of  man  that  does  the  biggest  things  and 
makes  the  other  fellows  look  lively." 

Wood  uttered  no  response  to  this,  but  sat 
back  in  his  corner,  buried  in  smoke  and  thought. 
Perhaps  he  wished  now  that  he  had  tried  a  little 
of  the  comforting  beverage  which  his  nephew 
was  sipping  leisurely. 

"  We've  got  to  get  down  to  business,"  he 
murmured  at  last.  "  And  it  can't  be  too  soon. 
Is  this  Porter  boom  really  started?" 

Heath  shook  his  head  and  sipped.  "  Don't 
know,"  he  said. 

"  We  don't  want  to  start  it  for  him.  But 
we'll  watch  out,  and  when  the  time  comes,  an 
editorial  or  two  will  help  —  danger  of  revolu 
tionary  ideas,  record  of  the  old  party  for  sta 
bility,  people  should  be  cautious  about  trusting 
new  men  and  their  experiments.  We  must  get 


MATTHEW  SORTER  7 

the  papers  into  line  early  —  especially  the  inde 
pendent  ones." 

"  Sounds  feeblish  to  me,"  suggested  the  sym 
pathetic  nephew. 

Wood  paid  no  attention  to  this,  but  fell  again 
to  his  reflections.  "  Of  course  there's  the  possi 
bility  of  fixing  him,"  he  began  once  more. 

"Who?  Porter?"  snapped  Heath.  "Oh, 
no,  there  isn't.  How  often  must  I  tell  you  that 
he  believes  in  things?  " 

"  Is  there  anything  he  believes  in  more  than 
in  a  ten-thousand-dollar  salary?  " 

"  Cynic!  And  you  accuse  me  of  not  believ 
ing  in  human  nature!" 

Yet  again  the  Republican  leader  dropped 
back  into  the  vast  abyss  of  contemplation. 
When  he  emerged,  it  was  with  another  idea, 
though  his  manner  did  not  indicate  great  con 
fidence.  "You  said  he  wasn't  married?" 

"  No.    Lives  with  his  sister." 

"  Sometimes  the  best  way  to  get  at  that  sort 
of  man  is  through  a  woman." 

"  Sometimes,"  agreed  Heath,  non-commit- 
tally. 

"  A  woman  like  Nellie  Fleet,  you  know," 
Wood  continued,  in  a  tentative  tone.  "  She 
played  the  very  devil  with  the  legislators." 

"Wouldn't  do  at  all.  She  couldn't  touch 
him  —  not  his  kind." 

"  No? "  was  the  disappointed  answer. 
'  That's  a  pity.  He  must  be  very  particular." 

"  He  is." 


8  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  By  the  way,"  said  the  uncle,  taking  up  the 
thread  again,  after  a  moment,  "  haven't  I  heard 
that  he  and  you  were  sweet  on  the  same  girl?  " 

"  You  may  have." 

"Well?" 

'  We  are  still  —  sweet  on  her,  in  your  pleas 
ant  phraseology." 

"  Now  that's  curious.  Isn't  there  something 
to  be  done  with  him  that  way?  That  Ferguson 
girl,  isn't  it?  Can't  she  persuade  him  out  of  his 
nonsense?  There's  nothing  in  the  world  like 
a  woman  to  do  it." 

"  Just  so."  Heath  seemed  to  take  more  in 
terest  now.  He  sat  up  and  finished  his  whiskey 
and  threw  away  his  cigar.  "  But  you  see,  I 
want  the  Ferguson  girl  myself." 

"  Surely  you  don't  believe  in  love,  at  your 
age,"  sneered  Wood. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  But  I  believe  in  money. 
Her  father's  got  a  pot  of  money,  with  all  his 
electric  roads  and  stuff,  and  she's  the  only  child. 
And  then  I  want  to  beat  that  fellow  Porter. 
I  went  into  this  fight  before  the  governorship 
question  was  dreamed  of  and  I'm  bound  to  win 
out." 

"  All  right.  I  wouldn't  disturb  your  love- 
affairs.  It's  a  pity  to  destroy  the  few  illusions 
you've  got.  But  your  cousin,  Miss  Bucking 
ham,  has  money.  At  one  time  I  thought  you 
were  after  her.  She  must  be  a  finer  woman,  I 
should  say." 

Heath  half -closed  his  eyes  and  appeared  to  be 


MATTHEW  SORTER  9 

dwelling  on  a  mental  comparison.  "  Oh,  yes," 
he  agreed  slowly.  "  She's  a  finer  woman.  No 
doubt  about  that.  Too  fine  for  me.  Too  fine 
for  any  one.  She  walks  with  her  head  in  the 
air.  A  man  can't  touch  her." 

"I  see,"  said  the  uncle  with  a  nod.  "It's 
natural  enough.  A  woman  of  thirty  —  she 
must  be  that,  I  suppose?  —  who's  had  her  own 
way  and  millions  for  ten  years,  isn't  likely  to 
make  a  model  wife." 

"  I'd  risk  that.  Margaret  Ferguson  won't 
make  a  model  wife  —  nor  I  a  model  husband. 
But  Viola  won't  make  a  wife  at  all  —  for  me, 
at  any  rate." 

"  She's  a  wise  woman.  How  does  she  live? 
What  does  she  do?  Play  bridge  or  slum?  " 

"Neither.  She  has  a  salon.  Fancy  it!  In 
Boston!  She  has  a  crowd  of  what  she  considers 
Bohemians  —  guaranteed  strictly  virtuous  — 
women  who  sing  and  paint  and  play  and  that 
sort  of  thing  —  high  art,  you  know.  That  idiot, 
George  Buckingham,  is  her  factotum.  She 
doesn't  sing,  nor  play,  nor  paint  herself  —  con 
siders  herself  above  it,  I  imagine.  But  she's 
a  patroness  of  the  Muses.  Such  Muses!  She 
scorns  bridge  and  slums  both.  Won't  that  do 
for  her?  " 

Wood  made  no  answer,  but  once  more  be 
came  absorbed  in  thought.  Heath  lit  another 
cigar  and  looked  at  the  ceiling.  There  were 
various  other  groups  in  the  room,  laughing  and 
chatting;  but  no  one  seemed  disposed  to  disturb 


10  MATTHEW  SORTER 

the  uncle  and  nephew  in  their  quiet  corner, 
though  now  and  then  a  curious  glance  was  cast 
in  that  direction. 

"  How  would  she  do  for  Porter? "  suggested 
Wood  at  length. 

"Viola?  Oh,  Lord!"  And  Heath  laughed 
his  silent,  unpleasant  laugh. 

"  Why  not?  He's  a  minister's  son,  you  say, 
brought  up  in  the  country,  probably  knows 
nothing  about  that  kind  of  life.  Let  her  draw 
him  in,  sing  to  him,  play  for  him,  paint  for  him 
—  or  get  others  to.  Give  him  things  to  eat  and 
drink.  Get  a  lot  of  pretty  girls  fluttering 
around  him  —  strictly  virtuous,  as  you  say. 
He'd  lose  his  grip  on  his  ideas  —  just  a  little, 
just  a  little  more,  all  the  time." 

Heath  continued  to  gaze  at  the  ceiling,  but 
his  laughter  had  faded  and  given  place  to  medi 
tation. 

"Then,"  Wood  continued,  "it  won't  be  all 
what  she  does  to  him,  but  what  we  can  do  to 
him.  Some  of  our  noble,  independent  papers 
will  be  so  grieved  to  hear  that  the  once  promis 
ing  hero  of  Democracy  is  coming  into  contact 
with  associations  which  —  aren't  good  for  him. 
And  the  Republican  sheets  will  be  delighted 
that  he  is  getting  civilized  and  that  the  Demo 
crats  have  at  last  chosen  a  man  who  is  honoured 
by  the  society  of  our  best  citizens.  I  see  a  lot 
in  this.  Doesn't  your  cousin  love  you  enough 
to  do  you  such  a  small  favour?  " 

"  She  doesn't  love  me  at  all."     The  speaker 


MATTHEW  SORTER  11 

was  leaning  forward  now,  with  his  head  between 
his  hands,  thinking  over  the  proposition. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  does." 

"  No,  she  doesn't.  But  she  hates  Democrats 
and  radicals  and  the  people  generally.  She's  an 
aristocrat  to  her  toes.  She  might  take  to  the 
idea  of  converting  him,  you  know,  educating 
him,  reforming  him.  She  has  a  lot  of  that  sort 
of  stuff  in  her,  if  it's  put  to  her  right." 

"  And  you're  just  the  man  to  put  it  to  her 
right,"  exclaimed  the  gratified  intriguer. 

"  Thanks.  No  doubt  you  could  do  it  better; 
but  I  suppose  it  would  come  from  me  more 
naturally."  Then,  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
which  his  uncle  did  not  venture  to  interrupt, 
Heath  added:  "Has  it  occurred  to  you  that 
she  might  take  it  into  her  head  to  marry  him?  " 

"Thunder!  No!"  The  ejaculation  was  loud 
enough  to  attract  the  attention  of  several  mem 
bers  of  the  nearest  group;  but  the  speaker  low 
ered  his  tone,  as  he  asked,  "  Would  she? " 

"  I  should  say  not,  if  a  woman  didn't  always 
marry  the  man  you  knew  she  wouldn't." 

It  was  the  uncle's  turn  to  reflect  again,  with 
a  shadowed  forehead;  but  it  cleared  at  length. 
"  And  if  she  did,  how  could  we  ruin  him  more 
surely?  What  is  ruin  for  a  poor,  ambitious 
radical  with  ideas,  but  to  marry  a  haughty,  lux 
urious  aristocrat,  who  will  make  him  throw  over 
his  followers,  and  run  after  her  whims,  and 
dance  to  every  tune  she  chooses  to  play?  Let 
her  marry  him." 


12  MATTHEW  SORTER 

But  Heath  was  doubtful  still.  "  Think  what 
he  could  do  with  her  money!  " 

"Nonsense!  You're  jealous  already.  Think 
what  the  money  would  do  with  him!  We  must 
take  some  chances.  Wouldn't  the  Democracy 
of  Massachusetts  mistrust  a  man  who  was  wal 
lowing  in  the  inherited  accumulation  of  the  capi 
talists?  I'll  undertake  to  make  them  mistrust 
him,  if  the  unexpected  should  occur.  Go  at  the 
thing,  will  you?  You  can't  begin  too  soon." 

So  the  astute  politician  continued  to  combat 
his  nephew's  objections  with  increasing  energy, 
until  Heath  at  last  agreed  to  see  Viola  and 
sound  her.  That  could  do  no  harm  at  any  rate. 

"  Naturally,"  said  Wood,  "  there's  no  use  in 
showing  her  the  whole  hand:  Flatter  her.  Per 
suade  her  that  she  can  save  the  party  and  the 
state  by  getting  the  kinks  out  of  this  fellow 
and  making  him  run  in  harness.  He  might  be 
a  good  Republican,  if  he  could  get  rid  of  his 


nonsense." 


"  And  his  honesty,"  Heath  suggested. 

"  But  you  needn't  point  out  to  her,"  Wood 
went  on,  "  that  it  will  be  just  as  useful  to  us 
to  have  him  associate  with  her,  whether  she  con 
verts  him  or  not." 

"  I  admit  I'm  a  cynic,"  interrupted  the  young 
man;  "  but  I'm  not  a  fool.  Leave  me  to  man 
age  this  my  own  way." 

Thereupon  the  two  rose  and  mingled  with 
their  fellow  clubmen. 


CHAPTER    II 

NATHA^T  A.  FERGUSON  was  a  man  of  business 
and  nothing  else.  He  was  born  of  poor  and 
not  exceptionally  honest  parents  in  the  little 
village  of  Foxbridge.  The  poverty  he  had 
managed  to  shake  off.  The  lack  of  honesty 
was  an  ingrained  inheritance  and  stuck  by  him. 
He  had  no  especial  education,  but  his  mind 
needed  none  for  the  use  he  made  of  it.  At 
thirty-five  he  was  a  thriving  cotton  broker.  At 
fifty-five  he  was  a  millionaire,  interested  in  the 
Shoe  String  Trust,  and  half  a  dozen  other 
trusts,  and  particularly  interested  in  electric 
transportation.  He  was  a  short,  smooth,  slip 
pery  man,  with  black  hair  and  moustache,  turn 
ing  gray,  and  bright,  brown,  shifty  eyes.  His 
wife  was  dead,  and  had  been  dead  so  long  he 
had  forgotten  her. 

A  few  days  after  the  hatching  of  the  Wood- 
Heath  conspiracy,  Ferguson  and  his  daughter, 
Margaret,  were  receiving  a  call  from  Porter  in 
the  heavily  magnificent  parlour  of  their  heavily 
magnificent  Commonwealth  Avenue  mansion. 
The  two  men  talked,  while  Margaret  leaned 
back  on  a  sofa  and  every  now  and  then  sup 
pressed  a  yawn. 

13 


14  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  So  you  mean  to  go  on  devoting  your  life 
to  politics? "  asked  the  gray-haired  stock  ma 
nipulator. 

"  I  do,"  was  the  eager  answer.  "  Every 
ounce  of  energy  I  have  is  going  into  them,  so 
long  as  I  live  and  see  as  clearly  as  I  do  now 
what  I  want  to  accomplish." 

"  Then  you're  in  it  to  do  good? " 

"  I  like  the  fun  and  I'm  ambitious.  Do  you 
think  a  man  is  worth  much  who  isn't?  But  I 
believe  our  system  of  government  needs  to  be 
made  over,  in  the  state,  and  in  the  nation,  too ; 
but  the  state  is  what  I'm  interested  in.  People 
think  democracy  is  a  failure.  It's  government 
by  legislature  that  is  the  failure.  You  can't 
run  a  business  by  a  legislature.  You  can't 
command  an  army  by  a  legislature.  Macaulay 
says :  '  Armies  have  conquered  under  good  gen 
erals.  Armies  have  conquered  under  bad  gen 
erals.  No  army  ever  conquered  under  a  deba 
ting  society.'  The  remedy,  one  remedy,  at  any 
rate,  for  the  evils  of  our  government,  is  to  give 
the  governor  more  power,  and  more  responsi 
bility.  Two  terms  in  the  legislature  have  con 
vinced  me  of  that.  The  governor  should  be 
represented  in  the  legislature  and  stand  for  the 
state  there.  Now,  one  man  stands  for  Prov- 
incetown,  another  for  North  Adams;  one  for 
Northfield,  and  one  for  Springfield.  Who 
stands,  or  sits,  or  cares  for  Massachusetts? " 

"  And  you  mean  to  be  governor,  with  more 


MATTHEW  SORTER  15 

power,  and  care  for  Massachusetts?  "  was  the 
mildly  sarcastic  suggestion. 

"  I  mean  to  try." 

"  These  are  Marston's  ideas,  aren't  they? 
Didn't  his  father  write  a  book  about  them?  " 
Ferguson  continued. 

"  Certainly.  I  don't  deny  it.  Two  people  in 
Foxbridge  have  been  the  making  of  me:  you, 
Mr.  Ferguson,  with  your  advice  and  sympathy 
in  practical  matters,"  —  as  he  .said  this,  he 
looked  at  Margaret,  though  he  addressed  her 
father,  —  "  and  Mr.  Marston  with  his  political 
ideas.  He's  a  man  who  thinks  and  sets  others 
thinking,  though  he  cannot  act  himself.  It  was 
he  who  made  a  Democrat  of  me.  Not  that  he 
feels  or  I  feel  that  as  a  party  the  Democrats 
are  any  better  than  the  Republicans.  It  is  six 
of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  other,  so  far  as 
present  aims  and  methods  go.  But  you  can't 
accomplish  anything  except  through  the  party 
system,  and  we  think  that  the  old  Democratic 
ideas,  which  were  unnecessary  in  Jefferson's 
day,  are  just  the  right  ideas  now." 

Margaret  sat  quiet  in  her  corner  and  coolly 
gauged  the  speaker's  eagerness.  She  noted  the 
firm  poise  of  the  head,  the  compression  of  the 
thinnish  lips,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  open  gray 
eyes.  But  there  was  no  sympathy  in  her  tone, 
when  she  uttered  a  sharp  comment  at  this  point. 
"  I  don't  think  I  should  want  to  get  my  ideas 
from  Mr.  Marston,  or  from  anybody,  second 
hand." 


16  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Don't  we  all  get  our  ideas  second  or  third 
or  thirtieth  hand  from  some  one? "  urged  Por 
ter,  more  as  a  plea  than  as  a  protest.  "  The 
thing  to  do  is  to  make  them  thoroughly  our 


own." 


But  Margaret's  father  was  less  interested  in 
the  personal  than  in  the  general  aspect  of  the 
discussion.  "So  you  want  to  return  to  State 
Rights,"  he  said.  "  I  should  call  that  a  back 
number  of  the  worst  description." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  The  strength  of  our 
government  ought  to  be  in  the  just  balance  of 
state  and  nation.  What  has  ruined  all  republics 
in  the  past?  Centralization.  Here  we  have  a 
set  of  wheels  within  wheels,  which  is  a  sure  pro 
tection  against  centralization,  if  we  use  it 
rightly.  But  we  let  the  state  go  and  think  only 
about  Washington.  After  all,  what  has  the 
ordinary  citizen  to  do  with  Washington?  He  is 
educated  by  the  state,  he  is  married  by  state 
laws,  does  business  by  state  laws,  pays  taxes  to 
the  state,  and  has  the  state's  license  to  be  buried. 
Yet  when  we  carry  on  a  campaign  for  state 
governor,  the  chief  things  we  discuss  are  the 
tariff  and  the  currency,  which  are  national  af 
fairs  and  do  not  belong  to  the  state  at  all." 

"  That  simply  shows  that  centralization  is 
what  we're  bound  to  have,"  urged  Ferguson, 
with  his  smoothly  unctuous,  good-natured  per 
sistence.  "  Those  old  ideas  were  good  enough 
for  farmers'  days,  when  each  state  was  a  little 
country  by  itself  and  it  took  a  week  to  get  from 


MATTHEW  fPORTER  17 

Boston  to  Xew  York.  We're  all  one  country 
now.  The  man  who  lives  in  Boston  marries  a 
wife  in  Xew  Orleans  and  does  business  in  San 
Francisco.  If  he  wants  to  get  a  divorce  or 
form  a  new  corporation,  it's  absurd  that  he 
shouldn't  have  the  same  Federal  law  for  all 
three  places." 

"  If  that's  the  case."  answered  Porter  ear 
nestly,  but  very  courteously,  "  the  sooner  we 
get  rid  of  the  state  organizations  the  better. 
Don't  you  see,  as  it  is  now,  all  these  immensely 
important  functions  are  left  to  the  states  and  are 
managed  by  the  states?  Yet  public  attention 
is  wholly  fixed  on  Washington.  Xo  glory,  no 
credit  is  to  be  got  by  a  life  devoted  to  state 
politics.  The  legislators  are  either  men  whose 
one  thought  is  to  get  to  Washington  or  who 
only  care  to  use  their  term  of  office  to  fill  their 
pockets.  And  all  our  most  important  affairs 
are  managed  in  the  dark  by  a  corrupt  and  mis 
chievous  lobby,  while  the  newspapers  are  full 
of  the  far-away  doings  of  the  President  and 
Congress.  If  we  are  to  be  governed  from 
Washington,  let  us  be  governed  from  Washing 
ton,  and  get  rid  of  the  old  arrangements  alto 
gether.  But  we  all  know  that  that  can  never 
be.  And  if  we  are  to  have  state  governments, 
and  to  trust  them  with  the  dearest  interests  of 
our  lives,  let  us  make  them  real,  serious  things. 
Let  us  drag  great  measures  out  from  dark  com 
mittee-rooms  and  spidery  lobbies  and  put  them 
into  the  hands  of  a  strong  executive.  Let  him 


18  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

be  responsible  at  every  step,  under  free  and  full 
discussion,  to  the  watchful  criticism  of  the  legis 
lature.  Then  each  man  in  that  legislature  will 
be  eager  to  distinguish  himself  in  debate  and  to 
thrust  himself  and  his  friends,  by  honest  serv 
ice,  into  executive  office.  But  you'll  think  I'm 
making  a  campaign  speech." 

Ferguson  smiled  his  smooth  smile,  behind 
which,  as  Porter  well  knew,  there  was  little  com 
prehension  and  no  conviction.  "  And  a  very 
good  one.  Only  campaign  speeches  don't 
amount  to  much,  at  the  best.  These  things 
sound  well,  but  we  all  know  they  aren't  prac 
tical.  Even  supposing  you  get  elected  on  re 
form  ideas,  can  you  do  anything?  Look  at 
those  other  reform  governors,  Folk  in  Missouri, 
La  Follette  in  Wisconsin,  Garvin  in  Rhode  Is 
land.  What  a  fuss  was  made  about  them  and 
what  did  they  do? " 

"  But,"  urged  Porter,  "  they  had  no  general 
principle.  They  simply  wanted  to  reform 
things,  without  any  special  idea  as  to  how  to 
set  about  it." 

Still  the  unctuous  smile.  "  Politics  want  a 
business  head,  not  ideas,  nor  principles,  nor 
theories."  Then  the  smile  continued,  with  an 
attempt  at  real  warmth  of  sympathy.  "  Mat, 
I've  known  you  from  a  boy  and  I'm  sure  you 
believe  I  take  an  interest  in  you.  Give  the 
thing  up.  No  Democrat  can  make  good  in 
Massachusetts  for  any  length  of  time.  You've 
had  a  fine  training  at  law.  Stick  to  that.  I'll 


MATTHEW  PORTER  19 

find  work  for  you.  Then,  when  you're  a  little 
older  and  better  off,  slip  quietly  into  politics 
again  on  the  right  side  and  you'll  do  something. 
You  think  it  over  and  talk  with  me  later." 

With  this  sage  advice  the  capitalist  withdrew 
his  sleek  urbanity  and  left  his  daughter  to  do 
the  honours. 

It  was  evident  that  Porter,  for  the  moment, 
thought  no  more  of  politics.  "  I  have  tried 
twice  before  to  find  you,"  he  began.  "  As  soon 
as  I  heard  you  had  got  back,  I  came." 

"  Why  were  you  in  such  a  hurry? "  was  the 
unsympathetic  response.  "  You  haven't  inher 
ited  a  fortune? " 

'*  You  know  why,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

She  took  no  notice  of  this,  simply  leaned  back 
in  her  corner,  opened  and  shut  her  fan  once  or 
twice,  and  yawned  slightly. 

"Was  Mexico  worth  seeing?"  Porter  went 
on. 

"  Hardly  enough  so  to  make  conversation. 
There  were  the  usual  bad  hotels  and  vulgar 
Americans  and  shops  full  of  nothing." 

"  And  the  Aztecs  and  Montezuma?  " 

"  My  friend,"  answered  the  young  lady,  with 
a  trifle  more  energy,  "  I  don't  want  to  talk 
about  Mexico.  If  it  is  for  that  that  you  have 
called  to  see  me  three  times  —  is  it?  —  do  not 
call  a  fourth." 

"  Mexico  is  no  more  interesting  to  me  than 
it  is  to  you." 

'  Then  why  recur  to  it? "     Here  she  sat  up 


20  MATTHEW  SORTER 

and  spoke  more  gently  and  suddenly  became 
the  Margaret  Ferguson  he  had  known  and  loved 
so  long.  Even  in  her  gentleness  there  was 
something  false  and  he  half  felt  it.  The  slow 
veiling  of  the  rich  brown  eyes  by  their  long 
dark  lashes,  the  warm  flush  over  the  dark,  soft, 
peach-soft  cheeks  —  he  knew  that  the  owner 
was  perfectly  conscious  of  these  charms  and  past 
mistress  in  the  use  of  them;  yet  they  charmed 
him,  as  they  had  so  often  done  others.  "  Let's 
talk  about  you,  Mat,"  she  murmured,  speaking 
in  soft,  broken  tones.  "  I'd  rather  talk  about 
you  than  about  Mexico.  Tell  me  all  your  plans. 
Do  you  know,  I  can't  help  thinking  papa's 
right?  These  politics  are  such  small  work. 
You've  got  it  in  you  to  do  big  things.  Stick 
to  law  —  law  and  business.  Papa  will  make  a 
place  for  you  that  will  be  worth  while.  By  and 
by  you  can  go  into  politics  with  money  and 
position  behind  you  and  do  something." 

But  his  gray  eyes  became  more  earnest  with 
the  fervour  of  protest.  "  Politics  are  not  small, 
as  I  look  at  it.  They're  big,  the  biggest  thing 
in  the  world.  By  and  by?  And  I  am  thirty- 
six  now.  What  does  by  and  by  mean  for  me? 
My  ideas  are  ripe,  I've  got  a  grasp  on  the  party, 
I'm  strong  and  full  of  courage.  Why  should 
I  give  the  best  of  me  to  business,  when,  even  if 
I  succeed,  the  taint  of  it  is  likely  to  hang 
around  me  and  clog  me  in  everything  I  under 
take?  No,  now  is  my  time  or  never.  And, 
Margaret,  I  believe  in  my  star.  Do  you  believe 


MATTHEW  SORTER  21 

in  it?  Caesar  believed  in  his,  Napoleon  believed 
in  his.  I'm  not  a  Caesar  or  a  Napoleon;  but 
my  star  is  not  a  vague,  indifferent  lustre  in 
heaven,  twinkling  and  gone.  My  star  is  my 
idea.  If  I  don't  rise  by  it,  some  other  man  will. 
If  I  can  get  the  governorship  of  Massachusetts, 
I  will  make  the  United  States  and  the  world 
look  on  at  what  I  do.  Margaret,  do  you  think 
I  brag?  You've  known  me  for  twenty  years, 
do  you  think  I  brag?  It  isn't  myself  I  believe 
in,  it's  my  idea." 

No,  she  did  not  think  he  bragged.  And  even 
her  cold  heart,  the  heart  of  a  ripened,  selfish 
woman  of  the  world,  beat  more  quickly  under 
the  inspiration  of  his  enthusiasm.  But  she  was 
her  father's  daughter,  hardened  in  sceptical  dis 
trust  of  ideas  and  people  with  ideas;  and  she 
did  not  answer. 

*  You  know  me,  Margaret,"  he  went  on. 
His  eyes  were  softer  and  changed  their  enthu 
siasm  for  passionate  tenderness.  He  hesitated 
a  moment,  then  came  over  and  sat  beside  her 
on  the  sofa.  *  You  know  me,  Margaret.  Will 
you  take  my  word  for  this  future  and  share  it 
with  me,  its  struggles  and  disappointments,  its 
success  and  glory?  " 

Again  she  made  no  reply.  Did  the  drooped 
eyelids  mean  modest  shyness  or  a  cold  balancing 
of  chance? 

He  could  not  tell;  but  he  went  on,  and  the 
passion  in  his  voice  grew  with  the  doubt:  "  It 
is  ten  years  since  I  began  to  love  you,  Mar- 


22  MATTHEW  SORTER 

garet.  You  were  eighteen  then.  Before  that 
I  had  thought  of  you  as  a  child,  and  merely 
changed  laughter  with  you  while  I  waited  in 
your  father's  study.  It  was  one  evening  in 
June  —  I  remember  it  so  well  —  probably  you 
don't.  Your  father  wasn't  at  home  and  you 
were  sitting  on  the  piazza.  I  had  come  in  my 
canoe  and  I  asked  you  to  go  out  a  little  while. 
I  can  see  you  now,  leaning  back  with  the  low 
sun  streaming  through  your  hair.  I  began  to 
love  you  then,  I  have  loved  you  ever  since;  but 
you  are  rich  and  I  am  poor.  I  have  been 
ashamed  of  my  love.  Now,  this  autumn,  while 
you  were  away,  I  made  up  my  mind  I  would 
speak.  I  feel  that  there  is  at  least  a  chance 
of  my  having  something  besides  love  to  offer 
you.  Margaret,  will  you  take  it?  " 

Still,  for  a  little  time,  she  kept  her  thoughts 
covered  behind  the  drooped  lids;  but  at  length 
she  spoke  quietly  and  coldly.  '  You  tempt  me, 
Mat.  I  don't  think  you  brag;  but  I  think  you 
may  be  deceived  as  to  your  future." 

He  was  hurt.  "  And  my  love  —  is  nothing?  " 
he  asked. 

"Oh,  love!"  she  answered,  and  her  eyes 
opened  now,  almost  with  wonder.  "  Why,  yes, 
I  love  you  —  I  think  I  do.  But  at  twenty- 
eight  there  are  so  many  things  one  thinks  of 
besides  love.  If  you  had  talked  to  me  about 
love  that  night  you  speak  of  —  on  the  river  — 
you  see  it  would  have  been  different." 

"It  is  odd,"  he  murmured,  with  a  touch  of 


MATTHEW  SORTER  23 

bitterness.  "  When  we  are  young,  and  have  the 
future  before  us,  we  don't  trouble  ourselves 
much  about  it;  but  the  less,  we  have  left,  the 
more  we  weigh  it  when  we  make  our  decisions." 

"  Just  so."  Her  agreement  was  businesslike, 
without  any  bitterness  at  all.  "  The  trouble  is, 
Mat,"  she  went  on,  "  these  are  all  dreams  and 
I'm  afraid  you're  a  dreamer.  I'm  not  —  never 
was.  And  then  you're  on  the  wrong  side.  How 
do  you  expect  to  do  anything  with  the  Demo 
crats?  Supposing  you  were  a  Democratic  gov 
ernor,  what  sort  of  people  should  I  have  to  re 
ceive  —  and  flatter  —  and  coax  —  and  wheedle 
—  their  coarse  Irish  voices  in  my  drawing- 
rooms?  Oh,  no,  it's  quite  impossible."  Then 
she  turned  to  him  and  raised  her  eyelids  just 
enough  to  give  him  a  glimpse  of  the  dim,  soft 
pupils  under  them.  "  Mat,"  she  said,  with  the 
wonderful  seduction  that  came  to  her  when  she 
desired  it,  "  Mat,  you  say  you  love  me.  I  love 
you  and  I  think  you're  a  big  man  with  lots  of 
power.  But  you've  started  wrong.  Give  it 
up.  Say  you'll  give  it  up.  Go  into  some  line 
where  your  power  will  tell  now,  and  the  rest 
will  come  afterwards."  She  laid  her  hand 
lightly  on  his.  "  What  if  I  were  to  say  I 
would  marry  you,  if  you  gave  this  up,  but  other 
wise  I  couldn't  —  risk  my  future  —  on  a  gam 
bling  venture? " 

The  eyelids  drooped  again  and  it  seemed  as 
if  her  head  were  almost  ready  to  droop  also  — 
on  to  his  shoulder.  His  fingers  pressed  hers  un- 


24  MATTHEW  SORTER 

consciously,  but  for  a  long  time  he  made  no 
reply,  and  the  agony  of  the  struggle  showed  in 
the  contraction  of  his  face. 

"  Margaret,"  he  began  slowly,  "  I  won't  say 
you  are  cruel.  How  could  I?  But  it  is  a  cruel 
position  you  have  placed  me  in.  For  years 
these  two  hopes  together  have  made  my  life. 
I  have  seen  myself  carrying  out  my  ideas  with 
struggle  and  triumph  and  success,  climbing  up 
and  up  and  up  over  the  heights,  each  resting- 
place  bringing  a  wider  view  and  a  more  ex 
tended  usefulness.  And  always  you  have  been 
at  my  side,  sharing  my  triumphs,  adding  to 
them  the  grace  and  perfection  that  you  alone 
know  how  to  give.  How  can  I  separate  the 
two  things?  How  can  I  have  courage  or  hope 
to  succeed  without  you?  And  what  should  I 
do,  even  with  your  love,  if  the  whole  fabric  of 
my  life  is  torn  away? " 

"  Choose,"  she  whispered,  leaning  nearer  to 
him  so  that  her  breath  warmed  his  cheek. 

"  Must  I  choose? "  was  his  hoarse  answer. 
"Why  do  you  force  on  me  the  alternative? 
Cast  in  your  lot  with  me.  Risk  something. 
There  is  no  risk.  I  shall  succeed.  I  will  suc 
ceed.  Or  if  I  do  not  —  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  more  loudly  and  haughtily, 
"  I  will  not  be  the  wife  of  one  who  has  failed 
or  even  who  may  fail."  Again  she  melted  and 
leaned  still  closer,  and  put  into  her  voice  all 
the  wooing  softness  of  a  summer  night. 
"  Choose,  choose.  I  want  to  hear  you  choose." 


MATTHEW  <PORTER  25 

But  what  was  best  in  him  rebelled  and  con 
quered,  for  the  moment.  He  shrank  from  her 
just  a  little,  so  that  she  drew  her  hand  away. 
Then  he  turned,  and  looking  straight  at  her, 
poured  forth  the  torrent  of  his  passion.  "  Mar 
garet,  I  can't  choose,  I  won't  choose,  all  in  a 
moment  like  that.  Think  what  it  means  to  me, 
take  a  week  to  think  of  it,  a  month  to  think  of 
it.  And  I  will  do  the  same.  These  political 
ideas  have  become  a  duty,  the  deepest,  strong 
est,  overmastering  duty  of  my  life.  If  I  am 
right,  it  means  doing  as  much  for  my  country 
as  Washington  did,  as  Lincoln  did.  I  can't  give 
it  up.  I  can't  give  you  up,  Margaret,  either. 
I've  wanted  you,  wanted  you  for  so  many  years. 
You  say  you  love  me.  Isn't  that  enough?  I'm 
going  now.  I'll  come  back  in  a  month,  unless 
you  send  for  me  sooner.  Think  of  it  all.  Think 
of  it.  And  make  up  your  mind  to  do  what  is 
best  for  both  of  us." 

She  thought  he  would  have  clasped  her  in 
his  arms,  have  kissed  her,  half-closed  her  eyes 
in  expectation  of  it;  but  he  did  not,  only  took 
her  hand  and  wrung  it  violently,  then  rose  and 
went  away. 


CHAPTER   III 

VIOLA  BUCKINGHAM  was  a  little  over  twenty 
when  her  father  died  and  left  her  a  large  for 
tune,  no  obligations,  and  no  near  relatives  but 
her  mother's  aunt,  Miss  Tucker,  who  had  kept 
house  for  Mr.  Buckingham  for  a  long  time. 
After  a  good  deal  of  indecision  and  several 
years  of  travelling  in  different  parts  of  the 
world,  Viola  finally  settled  down  with  Miss 
Tucker  in  the  family  mansion  on  Beacon  Hill, 
not  feeling  any  desire  for  nearer  association 
with  the  more  modern  elegancies  of  the  Back 
Bay.  She  made  some  changes  in  the  old  house 
to  adapt  it  to  her  habits  of  living.  The  dining- 
room  and  kitchen  were  transferred  to  the  upper 
story,  with  access  by  elevators;  and  the  whole 
back  of  the  ground  floor  was  turned  into  a 
great  music-room,  with  two  pianos,  an  organ, 
and  every  other  convenience  for  recitals  and  con 
certs. 

Sunday  evening  Viola  was  sitting  at  one  of 
these  pianos  alone,  idly  running  over  half -re 
membered  airs,  with  no  other  light  than  the 
dim  gleam  of  a  coloured  lamp.  As  her  mood 
changed,  the  music  changed.  Now  she  sat  up 
straight,  her  tall  figure  swaying  to  some  swift 

26 


MATTHEW  SORTER  27 

scrap  of  a  Moszkowski  dance.  Now  she  grew 
more  thoughtful  and  her  reverie  flowed  into  the 
long  passion  of  a  Beethoven  adagio.  There  was 
no  finish  about  her  playing.  It  was  sketchy, 
impatient,  imperfect;  but  she  felt  the  music. 
As  to  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  whatever. 

Gradually  the  notes  fell  away  from  any  def 
inite  sequence.  There  came  an  irregular  chord 
here  and  there.  Then  a  hurried  flutter  of  light 
runs.  Then  a  broken  chord  again.  Then  Viola 
let  her  hands  drop  idly  in  her  lap.  It  was  rare 
for  her  to  be  so  completely  alone,  even  on  Sun 
day,  which  she  still  preferred  to  reserve  for  a 
rather  old-fashioned  quiet;  and  the  solitude  and 
the  darkness  and  the  day  led  her  to  reflect 
vaguely  on  the  general  tenor  of  her  life.  She 
would  be  thirty  years  old  in  another  month  or 
two.  What  was  she  doing  with  those  years? 
What  had  she  done  with  them?  She  had 
friends  whom  she  loved  dearly,  who  loved  her, 
and  for  whom  she  was  able  to  do  much.  But, 
after  all,  she  was  not  the  main  element  in  their 
lives.  They  were  musicians,  painters,  sculptors, 
writers,  and  their  art  was  far  more  to  them  than 
she.  She  had  no  art,  or  only  all  art.  She  had, 
indeed,  always  maintained  that  the  passive  life, 
the  life  of  receptiveness,  was  enough,  at  least 
in  aesthetic  matters,  that  there  was  something 
vulgar  about  the  impatience  to  create,  some 
thing  obtrusive,  assertive,  which  did  not  quite 
square  with  the  dignity  of  her  aristocratic  tem 
per.  Yet  now  suddenly  she  found  herself  won- 


28  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

dering  whether  that  thirty  years  had  been 
thrown  away,  whether  the  next  thirty  would  be 
thrown  away  likewise.  She  would  be  glad  to 
do  something  in  the  world.  Then  she  caught 
herself  up  with  disgust.  Was  she  getting  to 
be  just  like  the  others,  whose  petty  ambitions, 
whose  trifling  jealousies,  whose  pitiful  success 
she  had  taught  herself  to  look  down  upon  with 
Olympian  contempt? 

At  that  point  she  was  interrupted  by  Dudley 
Heath,  who  ushered  himself  into  the  room  with 
a  cousin's  easy  ways.  "  Good  evening,  Viola," 
he  began,  with  much  serenity. 

Viola  did  not  seem  enthusiastic;  and  before 
she  returned  his  greeting,  she  stepped  to  the 
electric-button  and  filled  the  room  with  light. 

"  You  needn't  do  that,  you  know,"  he  pro 
tested.  Yet  when  he  saw  how  beautiful  she  was 
in  her  long  dark  gown,  saw  the  stately  poise  of 
her  small  head  with  the  black  hair  softly  parted 
over  the  low  forehead,  the  deep,  tranquil,  dark 
eyes,  the  strong  nose  and  chin,  the  firm  mouth 
showing  its  perfect  teeth  in  a  half -smile,  saw, 
above  all,  the  peculiar,  tranquil  grace  and  dig 
nity  of  her  figure,  he  added,  "  But,  on  the  whole, 
I'm  glad  you  did." 

When  they  were  seated  in  arm-chairs  com 
fortably  near  each  other,  Heath  continued. 
"Where's  your  flock?  I  expected  to  have  seen 
at  least  three  heaven-born  geniuses  here,  be 
sides  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  other  kind.'' 


MATTHEW  PORTER  29 

"  Your  sarcasm  is  always  so  heavy,  Dudley," 
she  answered,  in  a  low,  tranquil  voice  which  per 
fectly  harmonized  with  her  figure  and  which 
those  who  knew  her  best  had  rarely  heard  her 
raise. 

"  Sarcasm!  The  dozen  of  the  other  kind  you 
surely  won't  deny.  As  to  the  heaven-born,  I'm 
no  judge." 

"  None  whatever,"  she  agreed  heartily. 

But  he  was  not  easily  snubbed.  "  Come,"  he 
began  again.  '  Talk!  You  can,  you  know. 
Tell  me  all  about  it.  I  haven't  frequented 
your  seances  this  autumn.  I  feel  out  of  place. 
Is  that  natural  phenomenon,  your  cousin 
George,  familiarly  termed  Flitters,  still  master 
of  the  ceremonies?  And  that  extraordinary 
little  vulgar  fiddler,  McCarthy,  who  astonished 
me  so  much  —  he  really  was  heaven-born  —  for 
the  fiddle  —  and  what  a  cad  for  anything  else ! 
And  the  girls  —  Constance  Weber  —  hand 
some  enough  to  have  been  born  in  heaven  —  and 
just  intelligent  enough.  The  Chantrey  girl,  too 
—  oh,  but  she  has  a  tongue  —  tell  me  about 
them." 

"  You've  already  told  me  about  them  —  all 
there  is  to  tell,"  was  the  peaceful  reply.  Then 
she  began  to  ask  questions  in  her  turn:  "  Poli 
tics,  Dudley,  tell  me  about  them  —  what  your 
heaven-born  genius  is  doing." 

"  If  I  were  like  you,  you  know,  I  shouldn't 
tell  you  a  word." 


30  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  But  then  you  aren't  like  me." 

"That's  true.  Mare's  the  pity.  What  do 
you  want  to  know  about  politics?  " 

Her  manner,  as  she  leaned  back  quietly,  with 
her  hands  folded,  did  not  imply  an  ardent  de 
sire  to  know  anything.  Nevertheless,  she  an 
swered  him.  '  The  election  —  of  course  it 
pleased  you?  And  I  suppose  you're  to  be  at 
least  a  cabinet  officer  or  something? " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  My  ambitions  at  pres 
ent  lie  nearer  home." 

"  Nearer  home,"  she  echoed,  still  with  the 
same  languid  attempt  at  interest,  then  added, 
*  To  be  sure,  who  told  me  that  you  were  to  be 
the  next  governor? " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  made  no  re- 

piy- 

"  It's  true,  then.  I  can't  think,  Dudley,  what 
you  see  in  it.  I  wouldn't  insult  you  by  sug 
gesting  that  it  might  be  patriotism  or  a  sense 
of  duty.  I  know  you're  too  highly  civilized  to 
care  for  that  sort  of  thing.  But  what  is  it  then? 
Surely,  there's  no  glory  in  being  governor  of 
Massachusetts,  with  nothing  to  do  but  pardon 
murderers  and  make  after-dinner  speeches. 
And  the  people  —  how  can  you  bear  to  rub 
elbows  with  the  people?  To  flatter  saloon 
keepers  and  wheedle  labour  agitators  and  fawn 
on  grafters  —  why  do  you  do  it?" 

"Patience,  O  most  serene  haughtiness! 
What  if  I  were  to  say  that  I  was  driven  to 
moral  suicide  by  your  cruelty?  I  love  you, 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  31 

Viola,  you  know.  You're  one  of  the  most  beau 
tiful  women  in  the  world,  when  you're  full  of 
scorn  like  that  and  your  nostrils  broaden  and 
your  deep,  soft  eyes  flash.  I'd  rather  have  you 
than  the  governorship." 

She    waved    his    compliments    aside    with    an 
impatient  gesture.     "  Bah!  "   she  said.     "  Speak 


sense." 


"Sense!"  he  repeated;  then,  dropping  his 
lackadaisical  manner,  he  went  on.  "  It's  all  a 
game,  you  see,  and  I  play  it  because  it  takes 
up  time  and  makes  one  forget  life,  which  is 
unbearable  when  one  stops  to  think  about  it. 
The  dirty  people  are  nothing  —  just  pawns 
and  counters,  which  one  moves  —  and  then 
washes  one's  hands  afterwards.  The  thing  is  to 
fight,  to  fight  —  I'd  much  rather  kill  the  dirty 
people  than  fawn  on  them,  but  the  fashion  has 
gone  out,  you  know  —  to  fight  and  win  —  and 
then  to  begin  fighting  over  again." 

'  Yes,"  she  agreed  and  for  a  moment  dropped 
back  to  her  own  reflections  of  half  an  hour  ago. 
Was  life  a  better  thing  to  use  than  to  stop  and 
think  about?  Then  she  continued,  with  more 
interest  than  she  had  hitherto  shown :  "  But  for 
a  fight  there  must  be  some  one  to  fight  with. 
And  the  governorship  in  Massachusetts - 
surely  you  don't  expect  any  fight  from  the 
Democrats?  " 

Heath  was  more  alert  than  ever.  "  Ah,  but 
I  do,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  know  Mat  Porter?  " 


32  MATTHEW  SORTER 

No,  she  did  not  know  Mat  Porter.  Her 
manner  implied  that  she  did  not  wish  to. 

He  went  on  to  give  her  a  brief  sketch  of 
Porter's  career,  as  he  had  given  it  to  Wood. 
Viola,  indifferent  at  first,  gradually  came  to 
listen  with  some  appearance  of  interest  and  more 
of  contempt.  "  To  think,"  she  broke  out,  if  her 
quiet,  restrained  speech  could  ever  be  said  to 
break  out,  "  to  think  that  anybody  now-a-days 
can  really  believe  in  the  people  and  in  govern 
ment  by  them!  Or  doesn't  he  really  believe  in 
it?" 

"  I'm  afraid  he  does." 

"  Afraid? "  The  scorn  of  generations  of 
aristocracy  was  piled  into  the  one  quiet  word. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  apology.  "  I 
don't  stand  for  the  word.  But  I'd  rather  he 
didn't  believe  in  his  ideas.  Somehow,  the  vot 
ers,  fools  as  they  are,  smell  out  a  man's  hypoc 
risy,  when  he  has  it.  This  fellow's  genuine  and 
dangerous." 

"  That  makes  it  more  interesting,  of  course," 
said  Viola  thoughtfully.  "  I  sympathize  with 
you  more  than  I  did." 

Here  was  Heath's  opening,  yet  he  hesitated 
even  now  to  make  use  of  it.  Before  he  spoke, 
he  looked  at  Viola,  watched  her  thoughtful 
eyes  and  the  grave  power  of  her  face,  as  she 
gazed  beyond  him  and  beyond  the  four  walls 
about  her  at  some  absorbing  picture  of  her 
fancy.  "  I  want  you  to  do  more  than  sym 
pathize,"  he  said  at  length. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  33 

"  What?  "  she  began  in  astonishment.  "  I  do 
something?  Win  votes,  perhaps,  and  wheedle 
voters  ? " 

"  Not  voters  —  the  votee." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  See  here,  Viola.  It's  just  this.  You  say, 
liow  can  this  fellow  believe  in  the  people.  He's 
never  seen  anything  but  the  people.  He's  coun 
try  bred,  a  minister's  son,  brought  up  with  all 
the  old  claptrap,  not  an  idea  later  than  the 
middle  of  the  last  century.  What  he  needs  is 
some  one  to  take  him  into  a  new  world,  give 
him  society,  give  him  art,  music,  manners,  get 
him  out  of  the  narrow  rut  he's  been  bred  and 
born  in,  show  him  indirectly  the  absurdity  of 
those  old,  quaint,  popular  notions,  cut  his  claws, 
in  fact,  without  his  knowing  it.  When  he's  all 
changed  that  way,  he  won't  be  dangerous  any 
longer.  And,  Viola,  you're  the  one  to  do  it." 

She  had  been  listening  intently,  with  her 
eyes  half -closed,  an  expression  of  wonder  creep 
ing  over  her  face,  and  suddenly  giving  way  to 
disgust.  Now  she  sat  up  straight.  "  I  the  one 
to  do  it?  Don't  you  know  by  this  time,  Dud 
ley,  that  I  don't  like  women  who  meddle  in 
politics,  that  I  don't  like  democratic  govern 
ment  and  the  rule  of  the  people,  that  is  to  say, 
the  mob,  —  and  don't  want  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  it?  " 

"  But  that  is  just  the  very  point,"  he  urged. 
"Do  you  suppose  I  like  the  rule  of  the  people? 
But  Porter  does.  That  is  what  I  want  you  to 


34  MATTHEW  SORTER 

cure  him  of.  Infect  him,  oh,  ever  so  little,  with 
your  dislike  of  democracy.  And  don't  do  it 
directly.  Just  spread  your  atmosphere  around 
him  —  all  those  pretty  girls  with  their  art  and 
their  music  and  their  songs,  and  Flitters  with 
his  nonsense.  Why  am  I  telling  you  how  to 
do  it,  Viola?  You  know  how  better  than  I  or 
any  one.  I  don't  ask  you  to  do  it  for  me.  Do 
it  for  your  country,  for  your  order,  then. 
You're  a  born  aristocrat,  just  as  I  am.  And 
the  Republican  party  is  getting  to  be  every 
day  more  and  more  the  party  of  the  aristocrats. 
I  can  say  it  to  you,  you  know.  Do  it  for  your 
own  pleasure,  if  you  like  that  better,  just  for 
your  own  pleasure  in  taming  a  wild  beast." 

She  had  watched  him,  in  deep  thought,  her 
cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  as  he  pleaded  with 
such  earnestness  as  he  was  capable  of.  It  was 
some  little  time  before  she  spoke.  "  Is  he  pre 
sentable  —  this  —  a  —  rival  of  yours?  " 

"  Oh,  surely  —  a  gentleman  in  the  old,  plain 
New  England  way.  I  can't  deny  him  that." 

Again  there  was  a  pause,  before  she  asked: 
"And  does  he  go  into  society  at  all?  Know 
any  decent  people?" 

This  time  Heath  answered  with  rather  more 
hesitation:  "It  is  hard  to  say  what  you  would 
call  decent  people.  He  has  always  known  the 
Fergusons,  his  neighbours  at  home." 

"The  Fergusons!"  Viola's  tone  showed  no 
enthusiasm. 

"  I  said  the  Fergusons.     You  know  them?  " 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  35 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  them,"  she  agreed.  "  I  was 
on  the  Nile  with  them.  And  now  I  think  of 
it  —  you  and  Margaret  Ferguson  —  and  Mr. 
Porter  —  why  it's  that  Mr.  Porter,  is  it?  What 
a  singular  coincidence!  To  tell  the  truth,  Dud 
ley,  I  should  think  Margaret  Ferguson  might 
be  better  suited  to  him  than  to  you." 

Here  Heath  felt  forced  to  plead  his  own 
cause  a  little.  "  Come,  Viola,"  he  said.  "  I  like 
your  aristocracy;  but  it  isn't  consistent.  How 
can  you  turn  up  your  nose  at  Margaret  Fergu 
son  and  then  keep  company  with  the  set  you 
have  about  you  —  the  McCarthys,  and  Chan- 
treys,  and  the  rest?  Are  they  decent  peo 
ple?" 

"  They  are  artists,"  said  Viola  rather  ab 
sently.  "  With  artists  there  is  no  question  of 
decency." 

*'  That's  very  true,"  agreed  her  cousin,  in 
hearty  sympathy. 

"  And  I've  no  objection  to  Margaret  Fergu 
son,  except  that  I  don't  like  her  personally. 
After  all,  perhaps  she  would  suit  you  very 
well." 

'  Thank  you  —  so  much." 

"  But  about  Mr.  Porter,"  Viola  continued, 
still  as  if  she  were  thinking  of  something  else. 
"  About  Mr.  Porter.  Yes,  I'll  see.  And  sup 
posing  I  should  feel  interested  to  show  my 
patriotism  in  the  singular  fashion  you  suggest. 
How  shall  I  get  at  him?  Will  you  bring  him 
to  me?  Or  perhaps  Miss  Ferguson?" 


36  &CATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Flitters,"  answered  Heath  at  once.  "  Flit 
ters  will  know  him.  He  knows  every  one." 

Then  the  future  governor  was  proceeding  to 
give  some  further  facts  about  his  rival's  history; 
but  Viola  interrupted.  "  No,"  she  said.  "  I've 
heard  enough  about  him  for  to-day.  Talk 
of  something  else  —  anything  else  —  yourself 


even." 


So  they  talked  of  other  things,  —  family  af 
fairs  —  social  gossip  —  indifferently ;  and  soon 
after,  Heath  took  his  leave.  As  he  thought 
over  the  interview,  he  did  not  feel  entirely  sat 
isfied.  Wood  was  a  clever  man  and  the  scheme 
was  a  clever  scheme.  But  he  did  not  know 
Viola.  She  was  a  clever  woman  and  a  woman 
whose  eccentric  motions  were  as  incalculable  as 
a  comet's. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE  chairman  of  the  Democratic  State  Com 
mittee,  Robert  N.  Hinckley,  sat  alone  in  his 
private  office,  looking  over  his  extensive  cor 
respondence.  It  was  a  rather  bare  office  and 
rather  dark,  as  its  three  large  windows  looked 
only  into  a  narrow  court  surrounded  by  high 
buildings  on  all  sides.  The  chairman's  desk 
occupied  the  space  between  two  windows  and 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  a  mahogany  table 
with  arm-chairs  about  it,  suggestive  of  execu 
tive  committee  meetings  and  profound  delibera 
tion.  On  the  walls  were  portraits  of  Andrew 
Jackson,  William  E.  Russell,  and  Grover 
Cleveland.  Doubtless  the  list  would  have  been 
longer,  if  there  had  been  more  distinguished 
persons  whom  all  Democrats  could  have  agreed 
to  honour.  As  it  was,  even  Cleveland  had  been 
removed  and  restored  once,  if  not  oftener. 

Robert  N.  Hinckley  was  a  short,  stoutish 
man,  fifty  years  old,  perhaps,  of  Irish  descent, 
with  thick  black  hair  parted  in  the  middle  and 
slightly  curling,  a  heavy  black  moustache,  full 
cheeks,  and  a  full  chin.  He  had  got  his  present 
position  and  hoped  to  get  higher  by  thinking 
first,  always,  and  only  of  Robert  N.  Hinckley 

37 


38  MATTHEW  PORTER 

and  by  saying  the  right  thing  to  the  right  per 
son  at  the  right  time.  He  was  well  aware  that 
these  moderate  and  not  uncommon  gifts  would 
carry  a  man  only  just  so  far;  but  he  was  deter 
mined  to  find  out  by  experiment  how  far  that 
might  be. 

At  present  he  was  awaiting  the  arrival  of  one 
or  two  prominent  Democrats  whom  he  had  in 
vited  to  discuss,  in  a  perfectly  informal  man 
ner,  the  political  prospects.  Mike  Rooney  ap 
peared  first.  He  was  a  blatant,  red-faced 
saloon-keeper  from  South  Boston,  who  repre 
sented  Maloney,  the  would-be  city  boss,  in  state 
matters.  Maloney  stuck  to  his  own  affairs,  as 
a  general  thing,  and  did  not  go  near  the  State 
House  when  he  could  help  it.  When  he 
couldn't,  he  sent  Rooney.  And  Rooney,  for  all 
his  blatancy,  was  cunning  and  knew  a  few 
things.  He  knew  how  to  make  a  man  talk  in 
that  little  back  room  of  his.  He  knew  South 
Boston.  He  knew  the  true  principles  of  de 
mocracy:  shout  for  old  Ireland  and  fill  your 
pockets.  He  knew  the  would-be  swell  mem 
bers  of  the  state  committee,  for  instance  Robert 
N.  Hinckley,  who  had  blacked  shoes  in  his 
youth  and  now  had  a  house  on  the  water  side 
of  Beacon  Street,  knew  they  hated  him  and 
were  ashamed  of  him;  and  he  enjoyed  making 
himself  just  as  obnoxious  to  them  as  possible. 
Yet  for  all  his  unprofitable  knowledge,  there 
was  a  soft  spot  somewhere  about  Mike  Rooney 


MATTHEW  SORTER  39 

such  as  you  could  never  have  found  in  the  chair 
man. 

If  Hinckley  hated  his  colleague,  he  did  not 
show  it,  however.  "  Well,  Mike,  how  goes  it?  " 
he  began,  when  his  visitor  was  seated  and  had 
accepted  a  cigar. 

"  Damn  bad  over  in  South  Boston.  No  fun 
an'  mighty  little  business." 

"  That  so?     Police  bother  you  much?  " 

"Police!  Huh!"  It  would  be  vain  to  at 
tempt  to  express  the  scorn  which  Mike  threw 
into  the  exclamation.  "  Say,  the  police'll  never 
be  any  good  till  we  get  'em  into  the  City  Hall 
again  where  they  belong.  Ain't  that  right?  " 

"  Quite  right,"  agreed  the  chairman,  always 
mild.  "  And  how  are  we  to  get  them  there? " 

"  Search  me,"  said  Mike,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  thrusting  his  feet  straight  out  before  him 
and  chewing  his  cigar,  while  he  looked  at  the 
ceiling. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how,"  Hinckley  continued  in  his 
soft  persuasive  voice.  "  Get  a  Democratic  gov 
ernor  and  legislature." 

;<  Where  from?  "  inquired  the  saloon-keeper, 
unencouraged.  "  Hell? " 

The  chairman  smiled  sympathetically.  :<  I 
don't  care  where  they're  from.  But  I  don't 
think  we  need  go  so  far  —  perhaps  partly  from 
South  Boston.  There's  a  change  coming,  Mike. 
These  Republicans  have  had  it  all  their  own  way 
long  enough.  It  can't  go  on  for  ever." 


40  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

"  I  dunno,"  remarked  Mike,  with  much  de 
pression.  "  It's  an  awful  strong  graft  they've 
got." 

"  So  it  is;  but,  after  all,  the  strongest  thing 
about  them  is  that  they  hang  together.  The 
day  when  the  Democrats  pick  out  a  good  man 
and  all  stand  by  and  support  him  and  show  up 
the  Republican  graft  for  what  it  is  —  " 

"  It's  a  Sunday-school  picnic  to  what  the 
Democratic  graft 'd  be,"  interrupted  the  cynical 
South  Bostonian. 

"  Nonsense,  you're  babes  compared  to  some 
of  those  gentlemen  who  have  grown  hoary  in 
it.  And  I  tell  you,  Mike,  when  that  day  comes, 
it'll  be  a  good  thing  to  belong  to  the  Massachu 
setts  Democracy." 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  was  the  unenthusiastic 
rejoinder.  "  But  before  that  they'll  have  auto 
mobile  hearses  and  I'll  have  had  a  ride  in  one." 

There  was  a  brief  silence  before  Hinckley 
again  took  up  the  thread.  "  Know  anything 
of  Mat  Porter  over  your  way?  " 

Then  Rooney  pulled  his  feet  under  him  and 
withdrew  his  much-chewed  cigar  from  his  lips. 
"  Say,  is  he  your  man?  "  he  bellowed.  "  Is  it 
him  you're  workin'  for?  Do  you  think  you're 
goin'  to  get  all  kind  of  Democrats  to  stand  for 
him?" 

"  What  does  Maloney  say  to  him? "  asked 
the  chairman  unmoved. 

"  Maloney  don't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  state 


MATTHEW  SORTER  41 

politics."  And  Maloney's  representative  half- 
closed  one  red  eye.  "  It's  my  own  idea  I'm 
givin'  you  and  nobody  else's.  But  that  Porter 
—  he's  one  o'  them  honest  ones.  And  you  know 
what  that  means.  It  means  gettin'  your  friend 
in  a  tight  place  and  then  throwin'  him  over. 
Why,  you  can't  tell  what  a  feller  like  that'll  do. 
I've  watched  him  up  at  the  State  House.  He's 
always  pushin'  for  some  notion  or  other  that 
nobody  wants.  Porter!  " 

"  He's  a  very  sincere  reformer,  I  believe," 
suggested  Hinckley,  with  simple  earnestness. 

"  Reform  nothin' !  "  snorted  Rooney  in  con 
tempt.  "  Who  wants  reform?  Sincere?  Come 
now,  old  man,  you  don't  want  reform  nor  Por 
ter.  What's  this  all  about?  " 

The  chairman  smiled  his  gentle  smile.  "  Then 
you  think  he  isn't  just  the  candidate  for  South 
Boston?" 

;t  Well,  I  guess  not,  nor  for  North  Boston, 
either.  An'  you  know  it.  You're  just  workin' 
a  great  big  bluff  anyway.  Why  not  me  for 
governor,  hey?  " 

This  brilliant  suggestion  was  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  another  prominent  Democrat, 
somewhat  different  from  either  of  those  already 
present.  Tom  Burke  was  a  gentleman,  that 
very  charming  thing,  an  Irish  gentleman.  His 
face  was  red  and  bluff,  like  Rooney's,  but  with 
a  different  redness  and  a  heartier  bluffness.  He 
had  a  rich  wife  and  was  a  fairly  successful  law- 


42  MATTHEW  SORTER 

yer;  but  he  could  not  let  politics  alone  and  went 
at  them  with  a  simple  vanity  which  rascals 
played  upon. 

"  Hello,  boys,"  he  said,  shaking  hands  cor 
dially,  though  it  seemed  that  he  and  Rooney 
treated  each  other  with  a  certain  mistrust,  which 
showed  chiefly  in  exaggerated  courtesy.  "  Got 
the  next  governor  all  picked?  Seems  a  little 
early,  doesn't  it? " 

"  Mike  here  was  just  saying  he  thought  he 
could  pull  it  off,"  answered  Hinckley. 

"  Good.  That's  right.  He  could  carry  his 
own  ward  anyway  and  that's  more  than  some 
of  us  could  do."  Burke  removed  his  fur-lined 
coat,  as  he  spoke,  and  made  himself  comfortable 
with  one  of  Hinckley's  cigars,  which  had  a  wide 
reputation.  "  Well,"  he  continued,  "  if  there's 
any  good  thing  going  let  me  into  it." 

"  Of  course  it's  early  to  talk  anything  serious 
yet,"  began  the  chairman,  in  his  slow,  soft  voice. 
"  But  you  can't  start  these  things  too  soon. 
We've  got  to  win  out  next  autumn.  Now  that 
Worcester's  through  and  Graham's  dead,  the 
Republicans  have  nobody  but  Heath.  Heath's 
a  bright  man.  He's  done  some  good  work  in  the 
senate  and  he  has  Wood  behind  him.  But  peo 
ple  don't  trust  him.  I  think  we've  got  a 
chance." 

"  We  have,"  nodded  Burke  in  approval. 
"  And  to  win,  we  must  have  a  popular  man 
.that  will  carry  the  party  with  him." 

There  was  no  disputing  this;    so  for  awhile 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  43 

the  three  sat  and  meditated  on  it  in  silence.  At 
length  Hinckley  spoke  again,  to  Burke. 
"  What  about  Porter?  " 

Burke's  face  lengthened.  He  looked  at  Roo- 
ney  and  saw  Rooney 's  open  disgust.  "  Por 
ter?  "  he  repeated  non-committally.  "  Are  you 
for  Porter?  " 

"  Are  you?  " 

"  Porter's  a  strong  man.  There's  no  doubt 
about  that.  But  I  guess  he'll  get  about  as 
many  Republican  votes  as  he  will  Democratic." 

"  That's  right,"  agreed  Rooney,  with  much 
satisfaction.  "  Porter  ain't  no  Democrat." 

'  They  do  say,"  went  on  Hinckley,  with  the 
utmost  gentleness  and  as  if  he  were  asking  in 
formation  rather  than  giving  it,  "  they  do  say 
he's  got  quite  a  following  in  the  factory  towns, 
after  what  he  did  last  spring." 

'  Yes ;  but  you  can't  tell  what  he'll  do  next 
spring.  That's  the  trouble." 

"  He's  got  notions,"  grumbled  Rooney. 

"  Ideas  some  call  them,"  the  chairman  sug 
gested,  always  softly  and  with  a  meditative  air. 

"  I  believe  in  ideas  as  much  as  any  man," 
Burke  agreed,  as  if  he  had  actually  had  such 
things. 

"  Of  course  we  all  believe  in  them,"  Hinckley 
went  on.  '  The  only  thing  is,  when  a  man  gets 
them,  you  can't  tell  just  where  they'll  lead 
him." 

'  That's  so.  He  may  begin  a  good  Demo 
crat.  But  by  the  time  his  ideas  are  through 


44  MATTHEW  SORTER 

with  him,  they  may  land  him  outside  the  party 
altogether." 

"  Ideas  are  never  through  with  a  man  till  he's 
dead,"  was  the  chairman's  sententious  comment 
on  this.  "  Once  he  hitches  his  cart  to  them,  they 
drag  him  along  up  hill  and  down,  through 
briars,  mud,  and  everything.  And  it's  apt  to 
be  bad  for  those  who  ride  in  the  cart." 

"Then  you  ain't  for  Porter,  after  all?" 
asked  Rooney,  making  the  practical  deduction 
that  appealed  to  him. 

"I?  Oh,  I'm  for  the  party  and  the  man 
that'll  win.  If  the  party  wants  Porter  and  will 
back  him  up,  Porter's  good  enough  for  me." 

But  Burke  looked  discontented.  "  I  don't 
trust  him,"  he  murmured. 

"Whom  do  you  trust?"  inquired  Hinckley. 
apparently  with  a  real  desire  to  be  told. 

At  this  point  Rooney,  still  practical,  cut  in 
again.  "  Here's  my  candidate,"  pointing  to 
Burke,  with  a  grin  that  was  meant  to  be  flat 
tering  and  conciliatory. 

"Bah!"  said  Burke.  It  was  with  just  such 
a  "  bah  "  that  Caesar  put  aside  the  crown.  "  I 
thought  your  candidate  was  Michael  Rooney, 
Esquire." 

"  Don't  you  know  a  joke  when  you  hear  it?  " 

"Which  is  the  joke?" 

Here  the  chairman  took  up  the  subject. 
"  Mike  is  right,"  he  said.  "  There  are  a  good 
many  Democrats  that  don't  know  what  to  make 
of  Porter.  They'd  vote  for  him,  if  he  was  put 


MATTHEW  PORTER  45 

up.  But  they  know  you,  Mr.  Burke,  and  they'd 
follow  you  into  the  campaign  with  more  con 
fidence,  I'm  sure.  To  tell  the  truth  —  " 

But  just  as  Hinckley  was  starting  on  what 
must  surely  have  been  one  of  the  great  adven 
tures  of  his  life,  enter  Pete  Smith,  the  labour 
leader,  tall,  square-headed,  square- jawed,  with 
heavy  forehead,  thin,  light  hair,  and  frank  blue 
eyes. 

After  hand-shaking,  Smith  remarked,  in  his 
dry,  straightforward  way:  "The  next  cam 
paign  is  all  settled  by  this  time,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  we  were  waiting  for  you,"  answered  the 
chairman. 

"  All  right,  then  I'll  settle  it.  I  believe  Por 
ter's  the  man." 

No  reply.  Rooney  thrust  out  his  feet  and 
smoked  at  the  ceiling.  Burke  looked  down  and 
played  with  his  watch  chain.  Hinckley  gazed 
at  the  speaker  with  an  inscrutable  air  of  quiet 
attention. 

"  Well,"  went  on  the  labour  leader,  after  a 
moment,  "  he  doesn't  seem  to  be  your  man." 

'  We're  for  the  party,  not  for  any  man," 
suggested  Hinckley,  as  he  had  done  before. 

"  Is  that  so?  Now  I'm  for  the  party  with 
the  right  man  to  lead  it." 

"  Don't  think  I'm  against  Porter,"  Hinckley 
went  on  quietly.  "  If  the  party  wants  him,  I 
want  him.  He's  a  strong  man.  Only  perhaps 
he's  a  little  too  strong." 

"  Can't  be,"  was  Smith's  brief  answer. 


40  XATTHEW  SORTER 

"  See,   Smith,"  interrupted  Rooney,  without 

removing  his  eyes  from  the  ceiling.  "Porter 
ain't  no  labour  man." 

"  He's  a  Democrat,  and  so  am  I.  I  don't 
believe  in  splitting  up  parties.  Didn't  Porter 
do  good  work  for  labour  on  the  factory  bill  last 
spring?" 

'  Yes,  but  next  spring  he  may  take  a  turn  the 
other  way,"  suggested  Burke,  speaking  for  the 
first  time. 

Smith  knew  perfectly  well  what  Burke 's  as 
pirations  were  and  did  not  sympathize  with 
them.  "I'll  wait  till  he  does,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  want  a  man  to  agree  with  me  always,  if 
I  believe  he  means  right." 

"Do  you  know  what  Porter  does  mean?" 
asked  Hinckley,  with  his  inimitable  expression 
of  a  desire  for  useful  knowledge. 

"  I'm  going  to  find  out,"  was  the  frank  an 
swer.  "  Perhaps  he  may  mean  something  I 
can't  stand  for.  But  if  he  talks  as  straight  as 
I  think  he  will,  I'll  vote  for  him  and  work  for 
him." 

"He  don't  know  what  he  means  himself," 
growled  Rooney.  "With  that  kind  of  feller 
it's  first  one  big  word  and  then  another,  and 
all  the  time  it's  Mat  Porter  and  nobody  else. 
If  you  go  in  for  Mat  Porter,  you're  all  right 
and  can  have  what  he  leaves.  If  you  say  a 
word  for  yourself,  he'll  throw  you  over." 

"  Mr.  Rooney  puts  it  pretty  strongly,"  re 
marked  Burke;  "but  there's  something  in  what 


MCATTHEW  'PORTER  47 

he  says.  Porter's  got  a  lot  of  good  ideas;  but 
he  seems  ready  to  follow  them  anywhere, 
whether  they  lead  away  from  the  party  lines  or 
not.  You  can't  do  anything  with  men  without 
parties." 

"  You  can't  do  anything  with  parties  without 
men,"  was  Smith's  prompt  rejoinder.  "  And 
any  man  that  is  a  man  will  follow  his  own  ideas 
and  not  some  other  feller's.  I'm  glad  to  get 
hold  of  a  man  that's  got  ideas  to  follow."  Then, 
turning  abruptly  to  Hinckley,  he  added:  "  So 
you're  all  against  Porter,  are  you:" 

But  Hinckley  was  not  disturbed.  "  As  I  said 
before,  we're  for  the  party.  If  the  party  wants 
Porter,  we  want  him." 

"  We  are  the  party,"  answered  Smith  in  his 
sharp  fashion.  "  What  we  say  will  go,  if  we 
say  it  together  and  loud  enough.  But  I  see  you 
aren't  any  of  you  ready  to  say  Porter.  Well, 
I'm  not  ready  myself  yet.  When  I've  found 
out  more  about  him  and  seen  him  and  had  a 
talk,  I'll  let  you  know  where  I  stand.  I  don't 
see  as  I'm  doing  any  good  here  just  now." 

So  saying,  the  labour  leader  took  himself  off. 

The  three  who  remained  looked  at  each  other, 
somewhat  discontented. 

"  Our  friend  Smith  is  apt  to  be  in  a  hurry," 
remarked  Hinckley,  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"  In  too  damned  much  of  a  hurry,"  Rooney 
growled  under  his  big  moustache. 

"  Of  course  Porter's  a  good  man? "  sug 
gested  Burke.  Then  there  was  a  pause  during 


4S  XATTHEW  SORTER 


somebody   might   have    mentioned    that 
there  was  a  better. 

As  nobody  did  so,  Burke,  too,  got  up  and 
took  his  leave,  with  rather  less  cordiality  than 
he  had  shown  on  entering. 

Booney  followed  him,  after  a  word  or  two  of 
humourous  disgust,  exchanged  with  the  chair 
man.  **  Say,  old  man,  don't  you  think  it  might 
as  well  be  inc.  after  all?" 

"  Perhaps  ft  might.  Mike,"  laughed  Hinck- 
ky,  as  he  shook  hands  with  his  creditable  fol- 
I  don't  see  but  you'd  make  as  good 
as  any  of  them.    At  any  rate,  a  man 

rhere  to  find  you. 
Where?"    asked  the  member  from   South 
Boston,  with  a  magnificent  wink. 

"Where  the  loot  is,"  was  the  genial,  jovial 


CHAPTER    V 

HEATH  was  dining  with  the  Fi 
ing  the  earlier  courses  Porter's 
kept  out  of  the  conversation  by 
tacit,  consent.  But  with  the  good  claret, 
faded,  and  Heath  suggested,  imi&ig  cynically: 
"  You  should  have  asked  our  next  governor  to 
mee~  me. 

"%  f  T"»  ftaiT    j^        1          f*  ^  *         -_  _~         .  '  .  _  ,_ 

j'JLF.  A  ercfiBuu  nnuDeo.  IBHECOBK  a  QBBEBL 
Then  he  answered:  "  Mat  Porter?  Poor  boy. 

He's  making  a  fool  of  JnaMptf OF  wflL  if  be 

doesn't  change  his  mind  soon.  Our  next  gov 
ernor  is  sitting  here  now." 

"Thanks  awfully.  His  excellency  prefers 
light  meat,  if  you  don't  mind.'* 

"Mat  is  a  "good  fellow,"  went  on  the  ex- 
cotton  broker,  with  all  his  sweet  benignity  of 
patronage.  "  But  he  isn't  practical  He's  got 
a  lot  of  ideas  from  a  man  up  in  Foxhridge  — 
just  a  literary  man,  you  know,  who  never  held 
an  office  nor  earned  a  dollar  in  his  fife  —  ideas 
about  state  government  and  ad  that.  Xow  a 
young  man  can't  make  his  way  with  ideas  in 
his  pocket.  They're  as  heavy  as  gold  and  as 
useless  as  lead.  A  young  man's  got  to  adapt 

a^  •           "\&  "i  *•     9       •»  ^•'M  ™"i___ 

^MBtff^ffT imipyt    ti^  3    iMMTli    ••tii   2   SuVd* 

in  his  mouth,  fike  TOO,  Mr.  Heath." 


50  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Heath  bowed  his  acknowledgment  of  the  com 
pliments  of  Ferguson  and  Fortune.  "  You 
adapted  yourself,"  he  said  to  his  host. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did  adapt  myself.  It's  just 
like  getting  through  a  crowd  in  the  street.  You 
can't  stand  straight  and  square  your  arms  and 
drive  right  along  to  what  you  want;  you've  got 
to  make  yourself  as  thin  as  a  postage  stamp 
and  duck  and  twist  and  turn  and  slip  through 
holes  where  you'd  think  a  mouse  couldn't  pass. 
Then  by  and  by  the  road  gets  clearer  and  you 
spread  out  a  little." 

"  I  can't  see  Mat  shifting  and  turning,"  said 
Margaret  thoughtfully. 

"  No,"  answered  her  father,  "  he  can't.  And 
that's  where  he  is  bound  to  fail.  He  has  no 
money,  and  a  man  can't  start  in  the  world  as 
it  is  nowadays  —  and  I  don't  believe  it  was 
ever  very  different  —  and  do  anything,  unless 
he  has  money.  Of  course,  I  don't  think  money's 
everything  in  itself.  There  are  other  things 
that  are  a  great  deal  more  than  money." 

"What  things?"  inquired  Heath,  in  his 
chilly  fashion,  while  Ferguson  paused  for  a 
little  dinner. 

And  Margaret  echoed,  with  equal  coldness, 
"  What  things?  Tell  us,  papa  dear." 

When  papa  was  ready  to  resume  the  con 
versation,  he  resumed  it  as  if  mildly  horrified. 
"  What  things?  There's  a  frank  cynicism 
about  your  generation  that  wouldn't  have  suited 


MATTHEW  SORTER  51 

mine.  I  suppose  you've  heard  of  such  things 
as  honour  and  friendship  and  religion?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  Heath  answered,  an 
expression  of  profound  enlightenment  in  his 
manner.  "  I  didn't  understand  that  you  meant 
those.  When  you  said  other  things  that  are 
more  than  money,  I  supposed  you  meant  more 
amusing  than  money.  I  wanted  to  hear  about 
them." 

Mr.  Ferguson  was  silent  for  awhile.  Con 
ventions  were  an  important  element  of  his  life. 
They  were  desirable  in  one's  self,  convenient  in 
others,  and  in  the  ideal  of  a  governor  absolutely 
indispensable.  They  might  be  occasionally  vio 
lated  for  profit,  though  never  without  regret 
and  apology.  But  to  speak  slightingly  of  them 
was  worse  than  wrong,  it  was  foolish.  Still,  he 
recognized  that  the  coming  age  did  things  dif 
ferently.  And  the  coming  age  sometimes  did 
them  very  well. 

By  and  by  Heath  returned  to  the  subject. 
"So  you  think  Porter  has  mistaken  his  voca 
tion?  " 

"  No,"  Ferguson  answered,  with  renewed 
cheerfulness.  "  His  vocation  is  law  and  he 
couldn't  have  a  better  one.  Let  him  stick  to 
it.  With  his  brains  there's  money  in  law. 
There's  no  money  in  the  governorship,  even  if 
he  could  get  it." 

"  That's  encouraging  for  me." 

'  You  want  better  things  than  money,  don't 
you? " 


52  MATTHEW  PORTER 

"Oh,  yes,  I  forgot.  Still,  they  do  say  that 
some  governors  make  money." 

"  Not  in  Massachusetts,"  murmured  the  mil 
lionaire  solemnly.  "  It  can't  be  done  here." 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  be  content  with  the  better 
things  —  and  let  Porter  have  the  money." 

But  Margaret  wanted  more  part  in  the  con 
versation  and  she  did  not  want  to  talk  of  Por 
ter  just  then,  so  she  introduced  a  little  social 
gossip  which  enlivened  the  dessert. 

After  dinner  Mr.  Ferguson  went  out  and  left 
the  young  people  alone  in  the  cosy  little  recep 
tion-room,  with  a  dim  light  and  the  latter  end 
of  a  sea-coal  fire.  This  was  Margaret's  ele 
ment.  She  was  too  cold,  too  unresponsive  to 
shine  in  general  society;  but  hi  the  twilight  she 
could  put  extraordinary  meanings  into  her 
voice.  She  herself  could  hardly  have  counted 
up  the  number  of  men  she  had  fascinated  and 
thrown  over  in  that  reception-room.  But  she 
was  nearly  thirty  now  and  the  throwing-over 
time  was  approaching  an  end. 

As  for  Heath,  he  might  be  thrown  over,  but 
he  was  hardly  fascinated.  He  was  over  thirty; 
and  though  he  had  money  of  his  own,  he  wanted 
more  —  and  any  better  things  that  were  going. 

The  two  sat  in  easy-chairs,  side  by  side,  fac 
ing  the  fire.  Margaret's  hand  rested  carelessly 
on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and  in  a  little  while 
Heath's  hand  rested  on  hers.  Up  to  that  time 
they  had  not  spoken,  or  not  to  the  purpose. 

At  length  Heath  began,  softly  and  absently, 


MATTHEW  SORTER  53 

as  one  does  in  the  firelight.  '  You've  heard  of 
Lincoln  and  Douglas,  perhaps?  " 

'"'  Lincoln  and  Douglas?  "  she  repeated,  with 
inquiry  in  her  tone. 

"  Yes,  Stephen  A.  Douglas  and  Abraham 
Lincoln." 

"  I  have  heard  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  Do  you 
think  you  resemble  him?  " 

"  Well,  no,  but  I  daresay  Porter  thinks  he 
does.  You  see,  they  both  wanted  to  marry  the 
same  woman,  both  to  be  Illinois  Senator,  and 
both  to  be  President  of  the  United  States." 

"  I  know  about  the  presidency,"  she  an 
swered,  with  mild  interest.  '  Who  got  the 
woman? " 

"  Lincoln,  too." 

"  And  you  think  Mat  resembles  Lincoln? " 

The  hand  rested  on  hers  more  heavily.  '  I 
think  so?  No.  I  don't  think  he'll  get  either 
the  woman  or  the  presidency.  But  I  thought 
the  analogy  might  amuse  your  idle  hours  —  if 
you  have  any." 

"  I  have  no  others." 

Once  more  they  watched  the  fire.  "  Just  stir 
it  up  a  little,  will  you?  "  Margaret  suggested. 

He  stirred  it  up.  Then  he  sat  down  again, 
with  his  hand  in  the  same  place  and  spoke  once 
more.  "  I  think  we  might  as  well  settle  our 
affairs,  Margaret,  don't  you? " 

'Your  affair,  you  mean?"  She  half  with 
drew  her  hand,  but  let  it  slip  back.  "  Do  you 
want  me  to  settle  your  affair? " 


54  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

"  It  will  be  ours  in  the  end,  I  hope."  His 
voice  did  not  show  much  quaver  of  amorous 
uncertainty. 

"  You  think  so?  And  do  you  really  love  me 
so  much?  " 

"  Tongue  cannot  tell  how  much.  The  needle 
is  not  attracted  to  the  pole  with  more  unerring 
vehemence.  Hunt  up  the  most  beautiful  po 
etry  you  can  find,  saturated  with  love,  and 
charge  to  my  account.  I'll  stand  for  it." 

She  drew  her  hand  away,  sat  up  in  her  chair, 
turned,  and  looked  straight  at  him.  "  That's 
all  very  well,"  she  said.  "  You  think  I  laugh 
at  love  just  as  you  do;  but  I  like  it  all  the 
same.  Every  woman  does.  I  want  some  one 
to  be  attracted  to  me,  like  the  needle  to  the 
pole.  I  want  some  one  to  say  poetry  to  me  in 
the  moonlight.  I  want  some  one  to  love  me,  to 
love  me,  to  love  me." 

"Do  you  love  any  one?"  he  asked  calmly, 
half  turning  his  face  towards  her,  but  not 
changing  his  position. 

"  Not  you,  at  any  rate."  She  subsided  again 
into  the  bottom  of  her  chair;  but  this  time  she 
kept  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  Any  one?  "    he  repeated  in  the  same  tone. 

"  I  don't  see  that  that  makes  any  difference," 
was  her  petulant  answer. 

"  Perhaps  not.  And  you  think  Mat  Porter 
loves  you? " 

"Don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Get  your  father  to  sell  all  he  has  and  give 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  55 

to  the  poor,  and  then  see  if  he  does.  It's  the 
only  test." 

To  this  she  made  no  answer. 

Then  in  a  moment,  Heath  sat  up  in  his  turn 
and  began  to  speak  more  seriously.  "  I  admire 
Porter  —  and  at  the  same  time  I  despise  him. 
He  has  the  making  of  about  half  a  man  in 
him  —  or,  if  you  like,  two  half  men.  He 
doesn't  know  what  he  wants.  He  thinks  he 
wants  to  save  his  country  and  benefit  his  fellow 
creatures  and  work  a  great  reform  for  the  good 
of  posterity.  What  he  really  wants,  first  and 
foremost,  is  to  benefit  Mat  Porter;  and  all 
those  other  pretty  little  notions,  excellent  in 
themselves,  are  a  handy  way  of  doing  it.  Now 
I'm  working  for  Dudley  Heath  and  I  know  it, 
though  I've  no  objection  to  doing  a  good  turn 
for  the  country,  too,  if  it  comes  right.  It's  the 
man  who  knows  what  he  wants  who  has  a 
chance  of  getting  it,  in  this  world." 

"  What  do  you  want? "  she  asked,  half  with 
unconscious  coquetry,  half  as  if  she  were  think 
ing  of  something  else. 

'  You,"  he  answered,  short  and  sharp,  reach 
ing  over  abruptly  to  catch  her  in  his  arms. 

But  she  eluded  him.  "  No,"  she  said,  with 
perfect  calmness,  "  not  yet,  not  yet.  Even  the 
man  who  knows  what  he  wants  doesn't  always 
get  it  as  soon  as  he  wants  it." 

"  Ah,  well,"  was  the  cynical  reply.  "  I'm  in 
no  great  hurry.  Think  it  over.  But  don't  be 
fooled  with  the  phantom  of  Porter's  ambition. 


56  MATTHEW  SORTER 

I'm  going  to  be  the  next  governor  of  this 
state.  I've  got  the  whole  strength  of  the  Re 
publican  party  behind  me  solid.  And  even  the 
little  feeble  machinery  the  Democrats  have, 
won't  hear  anything  of  Porter." 

So  he  took  his  leave  and  Margaret  stayed  in 
the  big  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  thinking. 

When  her  father  came  home  he  attempted  to 
plead  with  her  as  Heath  had  been  pleading. 
"  It's  the  chance  of  your  life,"  he  urged. 
"  Look  at  the  way  he's  gone  ahead.  He's  sure 
to  be  governor.  He's  in  with  all  the  big  men  in 
the  state." 

"  Do  you  consider  him  a  noble  character? " 
she  asked.  It  amused  her  to  tease  her  honoured 
parent  with  these  little  ironies. 

Her  honoured  parent  never  understood  them. 
"  It  isn't  so  easy  to  tell  the  noble  characters. 
They  don't  always  put  on  the  noble  airs." 

"  No.  And  Dudley's  airs  are  very  noble, 
aren't  they?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?  Still  thinking  of  Mat, 
I  suppose? " 

"  Perhaps  I  love  Mat." 

"  Love!  "  said  the  honoured  parent,  as  if  the 
waiter  had  handed  him  pinks  instead  of  cauli 
flower. 

"  Love,  yes.     Don't  you  believe  in  it? " 

"  Oh,  if  you  love  Mat,  of  course.  But  I'll 
tell  you,  Margaret,  if  he  marries  you,  he's  got 
to  give  up  this  governorship  idea." 

"  Got  to? " 


MATTHEW  SORTER  57 

"  Yes,  got  to.  That  is,  if  he  expects  I'm 
going  to  give  you  anything  to  live  on,  and  how 
are  you  going  to  live  as  you're  used  to  living, 
if  I  don't?  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  he 
never'll  be  elected  —  a  Democratic  governor, 
with  fads.  How  would  you  feel,  to  be  the 
wife  of  a  man  who's  made  himself  ridiculous?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  like  it,"  she  agreed  cordially. 

"  Of  course  you  wouldn't.  Take  my  word 
for  it,  you'd  better  patch  it  up  with  Heath. 
But  if  you  must  have  Mat,  get  the  nonsense  out 
of  him.  Have  him  here  to  dine  and  talk  him 
over.  You  know  what  I  told  him  the  other 
day.  He  ought  to  stick  to  law  for  ten  years 
and  make  money  and  then  go  into  politics. 
That's  the  way  to  do  something.  He's  a  good 
lawyer  —  none  better.  I  can  get  him  a  berth 
in  the  law  office  of  the  road  where  he  can  go 
right  to  the  top." 

"  I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  suit  him." 

"  If  it  won't,  I  don't  think  he'll  suit  me  —  or 
you.  Will  you? " 

<  I'll  think  it  over." 

Then  the  young  lady  retired  for  the  night 
and  thought  it  over.  And  she  thought  it  over 
for  many  nights  afterward.  She  did  not  share 
her  father's  confidence  that  Porter  might  be 
persuaded  to  give  up  politics.  She  knew  her 
lover  too  well  for  that.  No,  he  would  probably 
persevere,  no  matter  whether  he  failed  or  suc 
ceeded.  Could  he  succeed?  What  if  she  should 
wait  and  see,  should  bid  him  come  to  her  when 


58  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

he  was  governor,  and  not  till  then?  But,  once 
more,  she  knew  him  too  well.  He  wanted  love 
and  what  had  love  to  do  with  such  a  cold 
blooded  proposition  as  that?  It  might  end  in 
her  losing  him  altogether  and  Heath  also,  with 
the  dreary  perspective  of  old  maidenhood  loom 
ing  up  in  their  places.  Besides,  as  she  had  said 
to  Porter,  a  Democratic  governor!  And  a 
Democratic  governor's  wife!  So  her  long  de 
bates  usually  ended  where  her  father's  sugges 
tion  had  left  her. 


CHAPTER   VI 

TUESDAY  was  Viola's  regular  evening  for  the 
gathering  of  what  she  called  her  family  and  on 
the  Tuesday  before  Christmas  the  assembly  in 
the  music-room  was  almost  complete.  Under 
the  full  glare  of  the  electric  light,  a  varied  com 
pany,  mainly  girls  in  gay  attire,  chattered  and 
laughed,  one  merry  group  shifting  into  another; 
and  the  hostess,  serene  and  stately,  moved 
among  them  all,  listening,  smiling,  now  and 
then  saying  a  quiet  word  which  was  welcome 
to  every  one. 

Miss  Tucker,  Viola's  great  aunt,  seventy-five 
years  old,  round  and  kindly,  always  as  sleepy 
as  a  cat,  always  knitting  something  white  and 
soft  for  a  fair,  nodded  on  a  sofa  in  a  corner  and 
would  have  slept,  but  Laura  Wells  and  Flora 
Chantrey  were  determined  she  shouldn't.  Laura 
was  a  journalist,  dark,  with  blue  eyes.  She 
gave  a  peculiar  impression  of  having  lost  all 
her  illusions  too  young;  but  it  may  be  she  had 
never  had  any.  She  was  as  brief  and  snappy 
as  one  of  her  own  write-ups.  Flora,  who  sang 
religious  music  Sundays  and  irreligious  the  rest 
of  the  week,  was  longer,  but  just  as  snappy. 
She  had  pale  blue  eyes,  an  irregular  nose,  a 

69 


60  MATTHEW  SORTER 

broad  mouth,  endless  humour  just  a  little  cyn 
ical. 

"  About  these  church  fairs,  Miss  Tucker," 
began  Flora,  "  do  you  approve  of  them? " 

Miss  Tucker  lifted  her  heavy  lids  with  an 
effort:  "  Approve  of  them?  Why  not? " 

"  They  make  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  you 
know,"  the  soprano  continued.  • 

"Trouble?  Do  they?  They  never  made  me 
any  trouble." 

"  I  should  think  knitting  shawls  two  or  three 
hours  a  day  all  my  life  was  a  good  deal  of 
trouble." 

"  Bless  you,  no,  dear.  It  would  trouble  me 
now  not  to  knit  them.  And  then  at  our  fair 
we  see  so  many  pleasant  people." 

"  But  don't  they  talk  a  good  deal  of  scan 
dal?  "  Flora  inquired,  as  solemnly  as  if  her 
conversation  were  always  confined  to  yea  and 
nay. 

"Scandal?"  Miss  Tucker  reflected.  The 
subject  was  serious.  "  Why,  no,  I  don't  think 
I  ever  heard  any." 

But  now  Laura  took  a  hand.  "And  the 
gambling!  They  talk  about  bridge.  When  I 
first  went  on  the  Star  I  used  to  write  up  fairs 
sometimes.  The  way  those  deacons  and  elders 
would  run  a  raffle,  and  the  voting  contests,  and 
the  mean  little  tricks  to  pile  up  a  big  vote.  It 
was  a  caution." 

"  Is  that  gambling?  "    asked  Miss  Tucker,  a 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  61 

trifle  wider  awake.  "  Why,  I  got  a  prize  in 
a  voting  contest  last  year  myself." 

"For  the  most  popular  old  lady  in  town?" 
Flora  suggested. 

"  I  never  knew  exactly  what  it  was  for." 

"  Depend  upon  it  that  was  it,"  chimed  in 
Laura.  "  And  in  that  case  there  didn't  need  to 
be  any  politics  at  all  about  it." 

Meantime  Ruth  Nelson  was  carrying  on  a 
desultory  conversation  with  Wingate,  the  mil 
lionaire  proprietor  of  the  Boston  Intelligencer, 
who  had  inherited  brains  and  money  from  his 
father  and  from  his  mother  a  pair  of  great 
brown  eyes.  Wingate  had  long  been  a  friend, 
and  in  the  early  days  a  lover,  of  Viola's.  Now, 
at  thirty-four,  he  wanted  to  marry  Ruth's 
brown  hair  and  soft,  sweet  dimples,  and  uncon 
scious  coquetry.  He  more  than  suspected  that 
Ruth  would  never  marry  him,  even  that  she 
cherished  an  absurd,  romantic  affection  for  the 
extraordinary  musical  genius  of  that  parentless, 
penniless,  mindless,  mannerless  young  creature, 
Eugene  McCarthy.  But  Wingate  was  a  steady, 
loyal  sort  of  person;  and  when  he  wanted  a 
thing,  he  tried  hard  and  long  to  get  it. 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  McCarthy  will  play  for 
us  to-night?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  I  hope  so  —  if  you  do." 

"  Don't  you?  Don't  you  love  to  hear  him 
play?  "  Ruth's  voice  always  had  enthusiasm  in 
it  and  a  peculiar  husky  quality  left  over  from 


62  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

scarlet  fever,  which  made  her  enthusiasm  sound 
even  more  breathless  than  it  was. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  playing,  violin-playing 
doesn't  mean  very  much  to  me." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  for  you." 

Wingate  was  rather  sorry  for  himself. 

But  the  fair  enthusiast  continued  the  subject. 
"  And  he's  such  a  remarkable  person,  Mr.  Mc 
Carthy  is.  Never  had  any  education  at  all,  you 
know." 

"  Yes,  I've  noticed  that." 

"  Don't  be  ill-natured,  Mr.  Wingate.  Such 
people  as  he  don't  need  education.  It's  only 
we  common  mortals." 

The  proprietor  of  the  Intelligencer  was  com 
pletely  crushed  and  for  the  moment  ventured 
no  further  interruption. 

"  They're  born  to  know  everything  they  need 
to  know,"  she  went  on.  "  And  we  know  so 
many  things  we  don't  need  at  all.  It  must  be 
beautiful  to  live  in  a  world  of  music  all  the 
time,  as  he  does,  to  dream  music,  to  breathe 
music,  to  eat  music." 

"  Perhaps  a  little  unsubstantial?  "  suggested 
the  more  earthly  lover. 

"  No,  no.  Those  beautiful  things  are  the 
substance  that  really  lasts.  If  we  could  only 
keep  our  lives  full  of  them  all  the  time!" 

"  But,  you  see,  we  can't.  There  is  so  much 
scraping  and  grinding  and  caterwauling  all 
around  us." 

"  We  ought  not  to  listen  to  it.     And  don't 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  63 

some  wise  people  say  that  even  the  ugly  sounds 
harmonize,  if  we  have  music  in  our  souls?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  slightly  plaintive 
answer.  "  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  music  in  my 
soul.  I'm  not  like  McCarthy.  And  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  I'm  rather  glad  I'm  not.  For  I 
think  these  people  who  are  always  walking 
about  with  their  ears  turned  upward,  listening 
for  celestial  music,  are  apt  to  end  by  a  fall  in 
the  mud." 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  you  are  a  Philistine, 
Mr.  Wingate.  Isn't  it  our  duty  to  take  care 
of  the  practical  for  such  people?  To  see  that 
the  mud  is  dried  and  swept  up  before  them? 
I  think  we  owe  them  that  for  the  gift  they 
bring  us." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  murmured  the  Philistine,  un 
convinced.  At  the  moment  he  felt  that  so  far 
from  keeping  McCarthy  out  of  the  mud,  he 
should  be  very  glad  to  push  him  in  and  see  him 
flounder. 

While  Miss  Nelson  was  delivering  her  eulogy, 
the  unconscious  subject  of  it  was  talking  to 
Viola,  to  her  cousin  Grace  Buckingham,  the 
soft,  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  painter  of  minia 
tures  and  delicate  water-colours,  and  to  Con 
stance  Weber,  tall,  dark,  willowy,  who  looked 
like  Juno  and  had  no  intelligence  to  speak  of. 
Constance  could  play  the  piano  with  marvellous 
technique,  but  music  meant  no  more  to  her  than 
anything  else  under  God's  heaven. 

I  said  McCarthy  was  talking,  but  he  was  not, 


64  MATTHEW  SORTER 

not  even  listening.  His  squat,  heavy  figure  was 
humped  awkwardly  in  a  big  easy-chair,  and  his 
sparkling  black  eyes  wandered  to  Ruth  and 
Wingate,  while  Grace  was  asking  Viola  ques 
tions  about  George  Buckingham,  alias  Flitters. 

"  Yes,"  said  Viola,  "  I  expect  him  to-night, 
for  the  first  time  this  season.  He  came  back 
from  Europe  three  weeks  ago  and  I've  seen 
him  once  or  twice;  but  last  Tuesday  he  was 
in  New  York  and  somewhere  else  the  week 
before." 

"  And  he  is  the  same  as  always,  I  suppose? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  George  never  changes.  That  is, 
if  you  can  say  he's  ever  twice  the  same." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  Grace  agreed.  "  That's 
his  charm.  What  a  lot  of  new  songs  he  must 
have!" 

"  Songs?  "  interjected  McCarthy,  as  if  some 
one  had  stepped  on  his  toe. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace.  "  That  rouses  you,  Mr. 
McCarthy,  doesn't  it?  Do  you  know  George?  " 

"  George? " 

"  George  Buckingham." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  him.  I  thought  you  men 
tioned  songs." 

"  So  I  did.     He  sings  them." 

But  Mr.  McCarthy  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
as  if  George  Buckingham's  singing  didn't  in 
terest  him.  And  Constance  at  length  entered 
into  the  conversation,  with  her  slow,  deep  voice: 
"What  did  you  call  this  —  Mr.  Buckingham? 
I  never  can  remember." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  65 

"  Flitters,"  said  Grace. 

"Why?" 

"  How  should  I  know.    Because  he  flits." 

"Flits?" 

"  Flits.  From  one  idea  to  another.  From 
one  mood  to  another.  From  one  song  to  an 
other." 

Here  Flora  Chantrey,  who  had  just  joined 
the  group,  and  was  leaning  on  the  back  of 
Viola's  chair,  took  up  the  strain:  "From  one 
girl  to  another.  Flit!  Flit!  Flit!  Like  a  lazy, 
gorgeous,  sun-loving  butterfly,  who  has  nothing 
else  to  do,  as  Flitters  hasn't  —  and  plenty  to 
live  on,  as  Flitters  has.  When  the  butterfly 
comes,  in  his  flitting,  to  a  big,  red,  wide-open 
rose,  like  you,  Constance  Weber,  he  will  bal 
ance  himself  on  it,  for  a  moment,  with  a  lazy 
sweep  of  his  wings  —  and  then  flit.  You're 
warned,  Constance  Weber." 

Constance's  big,  dark  eyes  showed  the  puzzle 
of  her  bewildered  brain.  But  Viola  interposed. 
"  Nonsense,  Flora!  George  cares  nothing 
about  girls,  Constance,  except  to  laugh  and  sing 
with  them,  as  he  does  with  men,  or  by  himself." 

But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  Viola's  re 
buke  was  not  as  much  intended  to  be  fraught 
with  warning  as  Flora's  outburst. 

"Well,  Flitters  he  is,  at  any  rate,"  Flora 
went  on.  "A  sort  of  celestial  fool  —  he  would 
say  so  himself  —  whose  folly  consists  not  so 
much  in  not  knowing  as  in  not  caring,  a  clown 
of  the  old  time,  stolen  from  Fairyland  to  Bos- 


66  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ton,  and  not  out  of  place,  either;  for  it  is  the 
essence  of  creatures  of  that  strain  not  to  be 
out  of  place  anywhere.  What  is  his  latest 
folly,  Viola?" 

"  Hanks's  suspenders,"  answered  Viola  softly. 
'  What?  "  demanded  all  three  girls  together. 

"  Hanks's  suspenders.  In  Norway  George 
happened  to  foregather  with  the  millionaire 
manufacturer  of  those  useful  articles,  and  as 
they  were  standing,  looking  at  the  midnight 
sun,  —  so  George  says  —  Mr.  Hanks  —  Napo 
leon  B.  his  name  is,  I  understand  —  suggested 
that  George  would  be  just  the  one  to  write 
their  advertisements." 

"  I  suspect  Flitters  made  the  suggestion  him 
self,"  chuckled  Flora. 

"  WeU,  so  do  I,"  Viola  agreed. 

"  But,"  asked  Grace,  with  some  hesitation, 
"  isn't  it  just  a  trifle  vulgar?  I  do  hate  to  have 
George  grow  vulgar." 

Viola  lifted  her  shoulders  imperceptibly,  but 
Flora  turned  on  the  speaker  at  once.  "  Grace, 
you  ought  to  know  better.  Nothing  that  Flit 
ters  does  or  says  or  thinks  could  be  vulgar.  He 
is  a  born  grand  gentleman,  which  just  fills  full 
the  measure  of  his  folly.  And  he  is  most  pi 
quant  when  he  touches  the  stupid  commonplaces 
of  vulgar  people,  because  he  loves  them,  don't 
you  see,  and  everything  human  is  beautiful  to 
him.  He  doesn't  get  bitter  and  irritated  over 
the  mob,  as  I  do.  Isn't  it  true,  Viola? " 

"  I   don't  know  about  your  getting  bitter." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  67 

Viola  smiled  kindly  at  her  friend's  enthusiasm. 
"  And  George  certainly  has  a  whole-hearted 
defender  in  you.  He  does  come  rather  near  the 
line  of  vulgarity  sometimes,  to  my  coarser  ap 
prehension;  but,  as  you  say,  one  feels  love  back 
of  it  —  Ah,  here  he  is." 

Constance,  who  had  been  listening,  spiritually 
open-mouthed,  to  this  singular  description, 
turned  her  eyes  to  the  doorway.  In  it  there 
stood,  under  the  half -lifted  portiere,  the  figure 
of  a  very  ordinary  man,  thirty  years  old,  per 
haps.  He  wore  evening  dress,  well  made.  He 
was  tall,  slight,  stooping  a  trifle,  his  features 
were  regular  and  agreeable,  his  mouth  broad, 
his  eyes  pale  blue,  his  hair  sandy  and  thinnish, 
his  face  clean-shaven. 

At  the  general  shout  of  "  Flitters! "  he  came 
forward  quickly,  with  both  hands  extended. 
"  Bless  you,  my  children,  bless  you,  bless  you." 
But  his  manner  was  so  quiet,  so  gentle,  so  un 
obtrusive,  that  for  all  his  odd  ways,  no  one 
would  ever  have  thought  of  calling  him  affected. 
His  oddities  were  inborn  and  every  one  was 
winning. 

"  Lady  Viola,"  he  bowed  over  her  hand  and 
kissed  it.  "  What,  my  dear  Lady  Disdain,"  — 
to  Flora  —  "I  hope  I  may  hear  your  voice 
again,  but  not  your  tongue.  And  Laura,  with 
her  journalistic  acridities.  Ruth,  with  her  dim 
ples,  dimples,  dimples.  And  Grace  —  ah,  one 
may  kiss  a  cousin.  Wingate,  that  sheet  of  yours 
is  getting  more  offensive  every  day." 


68  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

A  dead  stop,  as  he  came  to  McCarthy. 

"  Mr.  McCarthy,  a  new  friend,  our  violinist," 
interposed  Viola. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I've  heard  of  him  and  want  to  hear 
him." 

"  And  Miss  Constance  Weber,"  added  the 
hostess. 

"  Miss  Weher  —  the  violin  also?  " 

"  Piano,"  from  Flora. 

"  Just  so  —  all  these  celebrities  —  and  I  who 
am  nothing  —  but  then  one  has  no  reputation 
to  support  and  can  just  enjoy  one's  self." 

He  slipped  into  a  big  chair  and  the  others 
seated  themselves,  somewhat  nearer  together 
than  before. 

"  But  surely  I  interrupted  some  profitable 
conversation,"  he  began.  "  Go  on." 

4  We    were    only    talking    about    you    and 
Hanks's  suspenders,"  suggested  Flora. 

"To  be  sure  —  Napoleon  B.  Hanks.  Do 
you  know  him?  He's  a  great  man  —  a  really 
great  man.  But  I'll  tell  you  one  odd  thing. 
He  doesn't  wear  his  own  suspenders  —  any 
more  than  I  do.  Do  you,  Mr.  McCarthy?  No? 
You  ought.  There's  absolutely  nothing  like 
them.  I  tell  Hanks  it's  disgraceful.  Some  day, 
when  I  get  through  writing  his  ads,  I'm  going 
to  show  him  up.  Don't  you  suppose  Armour 
eats  his  own  beef?  Or  Douglas  wears  his  own 
shoes?  Or  Beaman  chews  his  own  gum?  They 
must.  Anything  else  would  be  impossible." 

"  But  about  the  ads? "    inquired  Wingate. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  69 

"  Oh,  the  ads.  Every  one  of  you  must  make 
one.  You  can't  do  less  for  me.  Come,  Viola, 
begin." 

But  Viola  did  not  respond,  nor  any  one  else. 

"That  means  you  won't;  for  I  won't  insult 
you  by  supposing  that  you  can't.  It's  the  easi 
est  thing  in  the  world. 

"Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us 
From  any  other  kind  but  Hanks's  suspenders." 

"  George,"  murmured  Grace,  collecting  her 
senses,  "  you  don't  mean  that  you're  responsible 
for  the  odious  vulgarity  that  flings  itself  in  my 
face  every  morning  from  the  car  when  I  ride 
down  town." 

"  '  Buy  Hanks's  or  bust.'  *  Hanks's  patent 
eats  up  five  pairs  of  pants  and  pants  for  more.' 

1  If  you  buy  a  new  garment  to  cover  your  shanks, 
Just  make  it  complete  with  a  new  pair  of  Hanks's. ' 

'  To  avoid  suspense  wear  Hanks's  suspenders.' 
1  You  can  wear  them  inside,  you  can  never  wear 
them  out.'  Mine,  mine,  all  mine." 

The  inspired  framer  of  these  winning  words 
repeated  them  in  his  soft,  abstracted  tones,  with 
a  happy  innocence  which  was  more  perfect  than 
the  words  themselves. 

"  George,"  remonstrated  Viola,  "  why  will 
you  condescend  to  such  vulgarity  as  that? " 

George  answered,  as  softly  and  as  absently 


70  MATTHEW  SORTER 

as  ever,  with  no  attempt  to  argue  the  question. 
"  There's  only  one  vulgarity,  my  dear  cousin, 
and  that  is  the  effort  to  appear  something 
you're  not,  to  ape  and  strain  after  airs  and 
manners  you're  not  born  to,  to  gape  with  oyster- 
mouth  for  the  ideas  and  words  and  fashions  of 
others.  Our  middle-class,  with  its  pseudo-ele 
gance  and  its  common-school  correctness  is  vul 
gar;  but  the  people,  when  they  speak  right  out 
in  their  free,  joyous,  happy  abundance  of  slang, 
aren't  vulgar  —  only  natural.  This  is  a  great 
country,  my  friends,  and  we,  the  set  of  Boston, 
are  such  a  little  bit  of  it,  we  don't  count.  There 
are  in  the  neighbourhood  of  thirty  millions  who 
ought  to  wear  Hanks's  suspenders,  and  you've 
got  to  talk  to  them  in  their  own  tongue.  I 
enjoy  it." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  suggested  Flora,  "  you 
make  an  effort  to  appear  something  you're  not, 
you  ape  and  strain  after  manners  you're  not 
born  to,  you  gape  with  oyster-mouth  for  the 
ideas  and  words  and  fashions  of  others." 

The  general  laughter  and  approval  with 
which  this  was  received  did  not  disturb  the  sup 
porter  of  Hanks's.  "  Good,"  he  said.  "  I  rec 
ognize  my  old  adversary.  And  I  am  vulgar,  I 
suppose.  But  perhaps  you'd  like  me  to  sing 
you  a  song  that  isn't." 

He  went  to  the  piano  and  preluded  softly  and 
vaguely,  then  sang,  to  an  air  that  had  a  lovely, 
simple,  old-world  grace  about  it: 


MATTHEW  SORTER  71 

"  Do  not  think  to  win  my  heart 

With  a  lovesick  mien, 
Sighing  when  we  meet  and  part, 
Sighing  all  between. 

"  Come  a-wooing  gaily  dressed, 
Flaunt  thy  cap  and  feather. 
So  perchance  some  idle  jest 
May  bring  our  lips  together." 

McCarthy  had  paid  little  attention  to  the 
newcomer  hitherto ;  but  it  was  pretty  to  see  him 
wake  up  at  the  first  strains  of  the  music.  When 
it  ceased,  he  went  to  the  piano.  "  Who  wrote 
that? "  he  asked,  in  his  abrupt,  almost  rough 
fashion. 

"  I,"  answered  Flitters,  without  looking  up, 
his  fingers  still  echoing  a  note  or  two  of  the  air. 

McCarthy  leaned  on  the  piano  and  looked  at 
him,  with  snapping  eyes.  "  You  must  be  a 
genius." 

But  Flitters  continued,  quite  indifferent. 
"I've  been  told  so  before;  but  I'm  not.  I'm 
nothing,  a  shred  of  mist,  a  bit  of  a  morning 
dream,  a  scrap  of  an  old  song.  Now  this  is 
more  Viola's  style."  He  struck  into  a  rattling 
dance-hall  air  and  sang  a  ballad  of  which  one 
verse  will  probably  suffice  the  reader: 

"Sarah  Sampson  loved  a  coon 

As  black  as  Sarah's  shoe. 

Sarah's  mother  swat  the  coon 

And  swatted  Sarah  too." 

"  That  yours? "  asked  McCarthy,  when  the 
performance  was  finished. 


72  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Flitters  nodded. 

"  Well,  it's  not  like  the  other,  but  it's  good  all 
the  same." 

"  Look  here,"  interrupted  Wingate,  "  why 
don't  you  two  write  a  comic  opera?  " 

"  Just  what  I  want,"  cried  Flitters,  rising 
eagerly.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  music; 
but  I  was  turning  over  an  idea  the  other  day. 
I'll  tell  you  what  it  was."  He  took  McCarthy 
by  the  arm  and  led  him  off  to  a  corner  of  the 
room.  "  Xo,  no,"  he  cried,  "  you  chattering 
girls  keep  away.  This  is  a  serious  conclave  — 
the  profane  are  not  needed." 

"  Well,"  said  Viola,  "  now  the  music  has 
begun  we  must  keep  it  up.  Flora  ? " 

"I'm  perfectly  willing,"  said  Flora.  "No 
body  ever  called  me  a  genius  and  I  haven't  got 
a  pocketful  of  assorted  inspirations  of  my  own. 
But  I  can  sing  Chaminade  and  De  Bussy." 

She  sang  Chaminade  and  De  Bussy,  with  a 
rich,  ringing  soprano  voice,  absolutely  true  and 
full  of  passion.  Even  Flitters  and  McCarthy 
stopped  talking  comic  opera  for  a  moment  to 
listen  and  applaud. 

Then  Constance  played  Tschaikovski,  played 
it  with  singular  brilliancy,  but  that  was  all. 
The  comic  operators  applauded  again;  but  the 
applause  was  briefer  and  had  less  heart  in  it. 

"  Now,"  said  Viola,  "  it's  your  turn,  Mr. 
McCarthy.  Leave  your  plotting  and  come  and 
play  to  us." 

Everybody  but  Flitters,  who  did  not  like  in- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  73 

terruption,  joined  eagerly  in  this  request. 
Nevertheless  McCarthy  refused,  and  Viola, 
knowing  his  moods,  did  not  press  the  point. 
Instead,  she  took  her  guests  up  in  the  elevator 
to  the  dining-room  at  the  top  of  the  house  and 
there  they  had  supper.  Viola's  suppers  were 
not  the  least  important  part  of  her  entertain 
ment;  they  were  not  pretentious,  but  there  was 
always  something  rare  and  new  and  piquant 
in  the  way  of  salads,  fruits,  or  ices. 

4  You'll  have  to  come  to  smoking,  Viola," 
urged  Flitters,  "  to  letting  us  smoke  and  smok 
ing  yourself  for  company.  It's  done  every 
where." 

"  Xo,"  said  Viola,  with  quiet  decision.  "  So 
is  bridge  done  everywhere.  If  you  want  bridge 
and  smoke,  you  may  go  everywhere  —  else.  I 
don't  think  cards  a  fit  occupation  for  creatures 
who  have  brains  and  tongues  and  I'm  too  old- 
fashioned  to  smoke  or  to  have  others  smoke  in 
my  presence.  But,  George,  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  a  moment." 

"  Speak,"  he  answered,  "  for  years." 
She  led  him  to  a  quiet  sofa,  while  the  others 
continued  chatting  and  eating  about  the  table. 
"  Do     you     know     Mr.     Matthew     Porter, 
George?"   she  began. 

"  Of  course  I  know  Mat  Porter." 
"  How  did  you  come  to  know  him?  " 
Flitters  reflected  a  second.     "  How  does  one 
come  to  know  any  one?    At  some  club  or  oth 
I  suppose." 


74  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Does  he  go  to  clubs?  " 

"  Well,  now  you  speak  of  it,  I  should  say 
not  often." 

"  Do  you  like  him?  " 

The  volatile  again  took  a  moment  to  con 
dense  his  thoughts.  "  Porter's  a  man,"  he  said. 

"  He  wants  to  be  governor,  I'm  told." 

"  Well,  I  imagine  he's  not  above  those  weak 


nesses." 


"  And,"  went  on  Viola,  "  I'm  told  he's  a  rad 
ical,  believes  in  the  people,  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

Flitters  laughed  his  cordial,  human  laugh. 
"  He  can't  be  more  of  a  radical  than  I  am,  Vi. 
I  believe  in  the  people.  I  love  the  people.  I 
love  their  dirty,  frank,  rough  ways.  You  know 
I  do." 

"  But  you  don't  believe  in  government  by  the 
people? " 

"  I  don't  believe  in  government  by  anybody. 
It's  an  absurdity  and  only  those  who  are  absurd 
ever  attempt  it.  When  men  can  rule  them 
selves,  they  won't  need  any  government.  And 
until  they  can  rule  themselves,  government  is 
of  little  use.  I'm  an  anarchist,  I  think." 

"  But  you're  not  serious.     Mr.  Porter  is." 

'  You  mean  I  don't  want  to  be  governor. 
That's  true  enough." 

Here  Viola  let  the  subject  drop  for  a  time, 
and  her  cousin,  who  apparently  had  no  desire 
to  continue  it,  gazed  at  the  pretty  groups  across 


MATTHEW  SORTER  75 

the  room,  Ruth  and  Flora  scolding  McCarthy 
for  not  playing,  Grace  and  Laura  entreating 
Miss  Tucker  to  drink  champagne,  which  was 
against  her  principles,  although  she  had  none. 

"  I  wish  you  would  bring  Mr.  Porter  here," 
said  Viola  abruptly. 

"  Do  you?  "  asked  Flitters,  still  keeping  his 
eyes  on  distance.  "  Now  why?  Such  a  whim 
would  be  natural  enough  for  me;  but  you  rea 
sonable  people  must  give  reasons." 

"  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  And  convert  him?  "  The  jester  turned  and 
looked  at  her,  with  roguery  in  the  pale  blue 
eyes.  "  The  missionary  spirit  is  so  strong  in 
all  women!  They  can't  seem  to  believe  in  their 
own  ideas  except  when  they're  persuading  some 
body  else  to  believe  in  them.  But,  Viola,  I 
don't  think  he'd  come  —  and  I'm  not  sure  I 
want  him." 

"  Why?  " 

"'  Well,  there  are  some  of  your  set  here  now 
who  are  over-serious  compared  to  me,  who  take 
life  with  painful  seriousness,  —  I  mention  no 
names;  but  every  one  of  them  is  a  will  o'  the 
wisp  of  careless  frivolity  compared  to  Porter. 
He  couldn't  understand  us,  he  wouldn't  like  us, 
he'd  have  no  patience  with  us.  Just  think  of 
it  —  a  man  who  wants  to  reform  the  world!" 

"  But  he  knows  no  better,"  urged  Viola, 
apologetically. 

"  And  he  never  will.     And  what  is  more,  my 


76  MATTHEW  SORTER 

lady  cousin,  I  have  a  terrible  suspicion,  way 
down  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  that  you're 
just  like  him." 

"  But  will  you  bring  him  here? "  she  per 
sisted,  sticking  to  her  point. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  he  answered, 
quite  indifferent  to  his  own  objections. 

Then  they  all  went  down-stairs  again  and  had 
more  music  and  more  laughter.  McCarthy  still 
obstinately  refused  to  play;  but  Constance 
played  and  Flora  sang  and  Flitters,  and  Laura 
recited  one  piece  of  drollery  and  Flitters  capped 
it  with  another,  and  Viola  sat  and  watched  it 
all,  chatting  vaguely  with  Wingate,  and  the  fun 
continued  fast  and  furious  till  midnight  was 
close  at  hand. 

At  last  some  one  mentioned  going  and  the 
girls  began  to  make  their  preparations,  in  spite 
of  Flitters's  energetic  protest.  "  Why  go?  "  he 
urged.  "  Now  comes  in  the  sweet  o'  the  night. 
Why  go?  Always  this  going  —  out  of  comfort 
and  song  and  laughter  into  the  darkness.  Why 
do  such  things?  " 

"  But  sleep?  "   suggested  Grace. 

"  The  most  absurd  excuse  ever  invented  for 
interrupting  pleasure.  Sleep  when  you  have 
nothing  else  to  do,  when  you  are  hearing  dull 
sermons  and  improving  lectures,  when  there  is 
no  good  company  to  be  had  or  love  or  laughter. 
This  foolish  tyranny  of  hours  and  customs!  To 
be  obliged  to  sleep  when  you  don't  wish  to  and 
wake  when  you  don't  wish  to.  I  live  for  two 


MATTHEW  PORTER  77 

or  three  days  at  a  stretch.  Then  I'm  ready  to 
sleep  two  days  until  I'm  glad  to  live  again." 

'  You  don't  belong  to  the  proletariat,  you 
know,"  remarked  Flora. 

"The  proletariat!"  And  paying  no  atten 
tion  to  their  departure  or  farewells,  he  turned 
to  Miss  Tucker  and  murdered  her  delicious 
somnolescence  with  terrible  tales  which  she  mis 
took  for  nightmares  bred  of  champagne  and 
lobster  salad. 


CHAPTER   VII 

ONE  morning  soon  after  Christmas  Smith 
walked  into  Porter's  office  in  Pemberton  Square. 
The  labour  leader  had  learned  all  he  cared  to 
about  the  candidate  from  outside  sources  and 
now  was  ready  for  a  talk  with  the  man  him 
self. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Porter, 
rising  and  shaking  hands  with  his  usual  frank 
cordiality.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

"  Well,"  answered  the  labour  leader,  as  he 
seated  himself.  "I'd  like  to  ask  you  a  few 
questions." 

"  Just  so,"  was  the  cheerful  rejoinder. 
"  Ask  away." 

Smith  asked,  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
All  his  words  came  easily.  "  Do  you  want  the 
Democratic  nomination  for  governor? " 

"  Not  badly  enough  to  do  any  dirty  work 
for  it.  Yes,  I  want  it,  if  it  comes  my  way." 

"  It's  coming  your  way,  I  guess.  And  I  can 
do  a  lot  to  help  it  on." 

Porter's  face  darkened  a  trifle.  Was  there 
to  be  a  bargain  here? 

The  other  did  not  leave  the  matter  in  doubt. 

78 


MATTHEW  SORTER  79 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  looking  for  anything  in  it  my 
self —  not  just  now,  at  any  rate.  But  before 
I  go  ahead,  I  want  to  be  sure  I'm  following 
the  right  man.  Now,  Mr.  Porter,  I'm  a  Demo 
crat." 

Porter  nodded.     "  So  am  I." 

"  I  believe  in  Democratic  principles,  if  any 
man  knows  what  they  are,  and  I  believe,  if 
you're  going  to  do  anything  in  politics,  you've 
got  to  do  it  by  sticking  to  one  of  the  old  parties. 
Ain't  that  right? " 

"  Quite  right.    At  least  it's  my  idea,  too." 

"  But,"  went  on  Smith,  "  I'm  a  labouring 
man  and  a  labour  man.  AH  the  votes  I  can 
swing  are  labour  votes,  and  before  we  throw 
them,  I  and  my  crowd,  we  want  to  know  how 
our  candidate  is  going  to  act  towards  labour. 
We  don't  want  to  put  in  a  governor  that's  goin' 
to  face  round  and  be  hand  and  glove  with  the 
swells  and  turn  down  everything  that  labour's 
been  working  for.  Now,  how  do  you  stand?  " 

Porter's  speech  was  as  ready  as  his  ques 
tioner's  and  the  look  that  went  with  it  was  as 
frank  as  the  speech.  '  Your  question  is  too 
general,  Mr.  Smith.  I  could  tell  you  I'm  the 
friend  of  labour,  as  so  many  candidates  do,  with 
big,  empty  words,  when  they're  looking  for 
support;  then  when  they've  got  elected,  the 
vetoes  come  pretty  thickly,  as  you  know.  I 
might  just  as  well  say,  now  and  here,  that  I 
should  probably  veto  some  measures  that  your 
friends  would  shout  for.  Nevertheless,  I  am 


80  MATTHEW  SORTER 

the  friend  of  labour.  I  want  every  man  to  have 
a  free  and  fair  chance.  I  don't  believe  he  gets 
it  in  a  good  many  ways  as  things  are  now.  I 
think  your  unions  rob  him  of  it  sometimes. 
More  often  I  think  he's  robbed  of  it  by  laws 
that  are  passed  unjustly,  dishonestly,  in  favour 
of  corporations  that  have  money  to  buy  the 
legislature.  Now  it's  right  here  that  I  come  in. 
There's  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  reforming 
the  legislatures  and  all  that,  about  sending 
better  men.  It  isn't  the  men,  Mr.  Smith,  it's 
the  system  that's  wrong.  We  make  the  men 
what  they  are.  We  give  them  every  induce 
ment  to  be  corrupt  and  no  inducement  to 
be  anything  else.  See  how  it's  done.  We 
send  three  hundred  men  up  to  that  legislature 
every  year.  Half  of  them  have  never  been 
there  before.  Three-quarters  of  them  know 
nothing  about  government  or  administration. 
Not  one  man  of  them  is  there  to  represent  the 
state  as  a  whole,  to  see  that  the  interests  of  one 
part  are  adjusted  to  those  of  another,  to  see 
that  the  general  finances  are  managed  with 
care,  economy,  and  decency.  Not  one  man  has 
any  natural  position  of  leadership,  any  right  to 
suggest  a  course  of  action  to  the  others,  or  to 
control  action  on  their  part.  Every  man  is 
interested  in  his  own  little  constituency,  to  get 
something  for  that,  something  that  will  make 
him  popular  and  secure  his  political  advance 
ment.  How  is  he  to  get  that  something?  There 


MATTHEW  PORTER  81 

is  only  one  possible  way:  by  giving  his  vote 
to  a  lot  of  other  men  who  each  want  similar 
somethings  and  getting  theirs  in  exchange. 
And  since  a  bargain  is  a  bargain,  when  a  man 
has  got  the  habit  of  exchanging  his  vote  for 
another  vote,  the  next  thing  to  do  is  to  exchange 
it  for  a  hundred  dollars  or  for  five  dollars. 
And  since  all  these  petty  concerns  are  of  no 
interest  to  the  assembly  as  a  whole,  it  cannot 
debate  them  as  a  whole.  It  appoints  a  com 
mittee  for  this,  a  committee  for  that.  Every 
thing  must  go  to  its  proper  committee.  The 
committee  hears,  the  committee  decides,  the 
committee  reports,  the  legislature  acts  as  the 
committee  tells  it  to.  There  is  no  openness,  no 
free  discussion,  no  publicity.  Fix  the  commit 
tee.  There  you  are.  This  is  a  long  lecture, 
Mr.  Smith;  but  you  wanted  to  know  where 
I  stand." 

Smith  was  listening,  with  his  brows  con 
tracted,  his  gray  eyes  fixed  on  the  lecturer. 
"Go  on,"  he  said.  "You're  all  right  so  far. 
But  what  do  you  propose  to  do  about  it? " 

"  That's  just  the  point.  I  want  to  drag 
everything  into  the  open  air,  shake  the  dust 
and  moths  out  and  let  in  the  sunshine  of  pub 
licity.  I  want  important  measures  debated 
squarely  and  freely  in  open  session,  with  the 
most  wide-awake  reporters  in  the  country  fol 
lowing  every  man's  speech  and  every  man's 
action  and  the  public  waiting  to  snatch  it  hot 


82  MATTHEW  SORTER 

from  the  reporters.  That's  the  one  thing  my 
campaign,  if  I  have  one,  will  try  to  bring 
about." 

Smith  nodded,  still  with  the  thoughtful  ex 
pression  in  his  eyes.  '  That's  what  we  all  want 
to  bring  about;  —  but  how?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you.  Let  the  governor  govern. 
Now  he's  a  figurehead  —  no  more.  You  drop 
a  nickel  in  the  slot  and  get  a  speech  appropriate 
to  the  occasion,  according  to  whether  it's  a  me 
morial  service  or  a  cattle  show.  The  veto?  To 
be  sure,  the  veto.  What  would  you  think  of 
the  general  of  an  army  who  had  no  power 
except  to  veto  the  proceedings  of  a  council  of 
war?  Of  the  superintendent  of  a  factory  or 
the  president  of  a  railroad,  with  a  veto?  No, 
I  say  let  the  governor  govern  and  then  let 
the  legislature  do  its  natural  duty  of  watching 
and  checking  the  governor's  government  and 
holding  him  to  a  due  responsibility.  Let  him 
be  absolutely  free  to  appoint  a  cabinet  of  subor 
dinates  who  shall  be  secretaries  of  state,  of  the 
treasury,  of  education,  of  what  not.  Let  those 
secretaries  have  regular  seats  in  the  legislative 
body.  Let  at  least  the  greater  part  of  pro 
posed  legislation  be  introduced  subject  to  their 
approval.  Let  them  lead  the  debates  for  it 
against  the  natural  united  opposition  of  the 
other  party,  which  will  watch  every  chance  to 
criticize  the  administration  both  in  its  legislative 
and  in  its  executive  functions.  Do  this  and  you 
will  have  a  search  light  of  public  interest  thrown 


MATTHEW  SORTER  83 

upon  your  state  government  which  will  banish 
corruption  —  or  if  that  is  impossible,  with 
human  nature  as  it  is,  will  at  least  reduce  it  to 
something  very  different  from  what  we  find 
now.  That  is  my  programme,  Mr.  Smith,  the 
one  thing  I'm  working  for.  I  believe  it  will 
help  labour.  I  know  it  will  help  labour  so  far 
as  labour  is  honestly  in  pursuit  of  justice.  I 
believe  it  offers  the  best  possible  means  of  solv 
ing  all  the  great  and  difficult  problems  in  re 
gard  to  corporations,  trusts,  monopolies.  First 
get  honest  government.  Then  these  questions 
can  be  discussed  fairly  and  settled,  so  far  as  they 
can  ever  be  settled.  Until  you  get  honest  gov 
ernment —  not  merely  for  a  day  through  some 
passing  outburst  of  reform  —  but  honest  gov 
ernment  as  a  system,  you  can't  settle  anything." 
The  speaker  paused;  then,  as  Smith  made  no 
answer  and  appeared  absorbed  in  thought,  went 
on  again:  "  Perhaps  it  seems  to  you  not  a  very 
pretty  thing  for  me  to  advocate  increasing  the 
governor's  power  and  then  ask  to  be  governor. 
But  that's  just  why  I  do  it.  I  don't  care  to  be 
a  walking  slot  machine.  But  give  the  governor 
something  to  do  and  something  to  be  —  with 
the  strictest  responsibility,  mind  you,  to  a  legis 
lature  which  is  all  the  keener  to  criticize  because 
it  has  no  mission  to  act  —  and  you'll  see  the 
biggest  men  in  the  country  anxious  to  take 
governorships,  men  whose  only  interest  now  is 
to  ruin  government  by  buying  it  up  for  their 
own  purposes.  Really  big  men  don't  want 


84  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

money.  They  want  action  and  distinction. 
This  idea  of  mine  will  give  them  a  chance  for 
enough  of  it  to  satisfy  any  man.  Now,  Mr. 
Smith,  I've  told  you  where  I  stand." 

This  time  Smith's  face  was  clear  and  he  an 
swered  promptly.  "I'm  with  you,"  he  said. 
"  This  looks  to  me  like  a  big  thing.  I've  heard 
about  it  before,  but  I've  never  had  a  square 
chance  to  get  at  the  facts.  Of  course  I  don't 
understand  it  all  yet.  I'll  have  to  think  it  over 
a  lot  and  ask  more  questions  by  and  by.  But 
I  like  you.  Some  people  don't  believe  in  ideas 
in  politics.  That  kind  of  people  are  mostly 
afraid  of  ideas  because  they  don't  know  any 
thing  about  'em.  I  believe  in  'em  —  when 
there's  a  man  behind  'em  —  and  I've  seen  you 
put  through  that  factory  bill  last  spring.  Mr. 
Porter,  you're  my  candidate  for  governor  on 
the  Democratic  ticket.  I've  got  a  good  many 
friends  and  you've  got  a  good  many  friends 
and  I  believe  you'll  be  elected.  At  any  rate, 
I'm  with  you  for  the  fight." 

The  two  men  looked  in  each  other's  eyes,  with 
absolute  sincerity  and  shook  hands  warmly. 

Then  Smith  asked  a  few  questions  as  to  the 
details  of  Porter's  programme,  raising  some  of 
the  objections  that  naturally  occurred  in  regard 
to  it.  The  answers  that  he  received  seemed  to 
satisfy  him  in  every  respect. 

Some  points  as  to  the  practical  workings  of 
the  campaign  also  came  up. 

"Heath   will   be   against   you,    I    suppose?" 


MATTHEW  SORTER  85 

Smith  said.  He,  like  almost  every  one,  had 
heard  of  the  rivalry  between  the  two  men  in 
other  matters. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Porter.     "  A  strong 


man." 


"  No,"  was  the  decided  answer,  "  a  smart 
man,  but  cares  for  nothing  but  Heath.  He's 
only  strong  because  of  Wood  and  the  party 
behind  him." 

"  There's  just  one  way  to  beat  him,  Mr. 
Smith,  and  that's  by  getting  hold  of  the  people." 

"  You're  right  there,  and  an  honest  man, 
with  a  platform  like  yours,  can  get  the  people 
every  time.  I'm  more  anxious  about  the  nomi 
nation  than  about  the  election.  Hinckley's  a 
man  you  never  know  where  to  find." 

"  And  Tom  Burke?  "    Porter  asked. 

"Oh,  Tom  Burke"  — Smith  laughed  and 
didn't  finish  his  sentence. 

"Well,"  said  Porter,  "I've  got  to  go  out 
now.  Come  to  my  rooms  some  evening  and 
have  a  long  talk.  Telephone  up  so  you'll  be 
sure  to  find  me.  Think  over  all  your  objections 
in  the  meantime  and  I'll  do  my  best  to  meet 
them." 

"  I  will,"  Smith  answered.  And  as  they 
again  shook  hands  at  parting,  he  added: 
"  Whether  we  win  or  not,  Mr.  Porter,  I'm  on 
your  side.  You  can  count  on  me.  And  we  will 


win." 


Late  that  afternoon  Porter  dropped  into  the 
Idlers'  Club,  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  man  with 


86  3KATTHEW  SORTER 

whom  he  had  business  to  transact.  He  did  not 
find  the  man  he  wanted;  but  he  found  Flitters 
instead;  or  rather,  Flitters  found  him. 

"  Hello,  Porter,"  exclaimed  that  volatile  per 
sonage.  "  Sit  down  and  talk  to  a  fellow." 

"  Can't,"  said  Porter,  "  busy." 

"  Nonsense,  you're  not  busy.  What  kind  of 
a  life  is  that  to  live?  Sit  down.  I've  something 
to  say  to  you." 

"I  can't  imagine  — "  Porter  objected;  but 
he  sat  down  and  allowed  a  whiskey  and  soda 
to  be  called  for.  He  even  accepted  a  cigar. 
When  he  had  lighted  it,  he  turned  to  his  com 
panion  inquiringly.  '  Well?  "  he  said. 

"  Well,"  was  the  petulant  reply.  "  I  sha'n't 
talk  till  I'm  ready,  old  man.  No  '  business 
transacted  while  you  wait '  for  me." 

"  A41  right.     Take  your  time  —  and  mine." 

When  the  whiskey  had  come,  Flitters  at  last 
found  his  tongue.  "  I  want  to  take  you  to  my 
cousin's  some  evening,"  he  said. 

"  Your  cousin's?  Who  is  he?  What  should 
I  do  there?" 

"  Not  he,  she." 

"  Oh,  she." 

"  And  you'd  do  what  every  one  else  does. 
Sing,  laugh,  make  verses,  eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry." 

Porter  looked  at  his  companion  as  if  not  un 
derstanding.  "  You've  got  the  wrong  man," 
he  objected.  "  I  can't  sing  nor  make  verses." 

"  Nor  laugh  nor  be  merry,  I  suppose  —  nor 


MATTHEW  SORTER  87 

eat  and  drink  in  any  way  to  profit  by  it.  But 
you  might  learn." 

"  You'll  excuse  me,"  suggested  Porter,  sip 
ping  his  whiskey  with  a  certain  relish,  in  spite 
of  his  companion's  innuendo,  "  you'll  excuse  me, 
but  why  this  extraordinary  outburst  of  charity 
on  your  part?  " 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  my  cousin  wants  to  see 
you." 

"Oh!"  Then,  after  a  moment  of  reflection, 
Porter  added,  "  Who  is  she?  " 

"  Viola  Buckingham.  She's  rich  and  hand 
some  and  idle  and  talks  well  and  has  a  mob  of 
pretty  girls  about  her.  You've  heard  of  her 
perhaps?  " 

Porter  made  no  reply.  He  was  thinking  of 
Margaret  Ferguson.  He  did  think  of  her 
every  hour  of  the  day.  She  was  rich  and  hand 
some  and  idle.  If  he  would  give  up  the  am 
bitions  and  ideals  of  years,  he  might  have  her 
for  his  own.  Sometimes  he  was  almost  ready 
to  do  so.  But  he  would  much  prefer  to  have  her 
and  the  ideals,  too.  Meantime  there  was  no 
room  in  his  life  for  other  women,  however  rich 
and  handsome. 

"  I  asked  if  you'd  heard  of  her,"  reiterated 
Flitters,  with  mild  insistence. 

"Yes,  I've  heard  of  her;  but  I  don't  think 
that  sort  of  thing  is  in  my  line.  I'm  neither 
rich  nor  handsome  nor  idle,  you  know." 

"I  understand  that  perfectly;  but  it's  good 
for  you  to  come  in  contact  with  those  who  are. 


88  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Come,  you'll  go  with  me  some  evening,  won't 
you? " 

"  I  doubt  it,"  was  the  indifferent  answer. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will." 

Then  they  left  the  club  together,  Flitters 
preaching  his  favourite  doctrine  of  the  golden 
moment.  '  You  never  live,  Porter,  you're  al 
ways  going  to  live.  After  all,  past  and  future 
are  nothing.  The  present  is  absolutely  within 
our  power,  if  we  choose  to  make  it  so.  Here  is 
the  world,  overflowing  with  unspeakable  joy 
and  beauty  and  merriment,  and  persons  like  you 
pass  by  with  head  in  the  air,  snuffing  after  some 
thing  unattainable  in  the  far  distance.  The 
moment,  the  present  moment,  is  a  golden  cup, 
and  if  we  choose,  we  may  fill  it  from  the  ex- 
haustless  fountain  of  eternity.  Ages  of  care, 
generations  of  restless  fret  have  robbed  most 
of  us  of  our  birthrights.  I  am  at  least  glad 
that  my  eyes  are  open  to  the  splendour  of  mine." 


CHAPTER   VIII 

PORTER  had  been  invited  to  the  Fergusons  on 
the  last  night  of  the  year,  just  a  quiet  dinner 
of  three.  While  they  were  at  table  Mr.  Fer 
guson  had  carried  most  of  the  conversation, 
keeping  it  on  general  topics,  but  contriving  to 
intersperse  what  seemed  to  him  very  clever  hints 
on  the  necessity  of  common  sense  and  practical 
views,  if  a  man  wanted  to  get  ahead  in  life. 

After  dinner  they  were  all  together  for  a 
time  in  the  reception-room,  and  Ferguson  began 
his  attack  fairly  and  directly. 

"  Mat,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  you've  thought 
better  of  your  political  schemes." 

"  I've  thought  of  them  a  great  deal,"  was 
the  quiet  answer.  "  As  to  better,  I  don't  know." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  you're  making  a  mistake, 
if  you  stick  to  them.  Now  just  look  at  it 
seriously,  Mat,  for  a  moment.  What  chance 
has  a  Democrat  in  this  state?  I  don't  say  but 
a  man  mightn't  get  elected  by  personal  popular 
ity  or  money.  But  supposing  he  does.  Every 
body's  against  him.  He's  got  no  official  sup 
port,  no  chance  to  do  anything  or  get  ahead. 
I'm  not  arguing  for  Republican  principles  or 
against  them.  But  when  one  party  has  things 

89 


90  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

all  its  own  way  in  a  state,  there's  no  use  in  a 
man's  tying  himself  up  with  the  other.  Don't 
you  think  I'm  right? " 

"  There  are  some  advantages  about  belong 
ing  to  the  weaker  party,"  Porter  answered. 
"If  you  go  in  with  the  stronger  party  and  win 
as  a  matter  of  course,  you  get  no  credit  indi 
vidually.  You  must  follow  the  old  lines  or  get 
out.  If  you  head  the  weaker  party  and  win, 
you  have  it  all  your  own  way." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  answered  the  paternal  adviser. 
"If  you  win  —  a  gambler's  chance.  That  sort 
of  thing  is  all  very  well  for  a  man  who  has  made 
his  pile  and  can  afford  to  amuse  himself.  You 
haven't  made  your  pile  yet,  I  think?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  cheerful  reply,  "  no  pile." 

"  Exactly.  You're  a  young  man.  You  can 
do  better  at  forty-five  than  you  can  at  thirty- 
five.  Wait  awhile.  Do  as  I  told  you  the  other 
day.  I've  thought  it  over  a  good  deal.  We 
want  just  such  a  man  as  you  are  in  the  Over- 
State  Electric  law  department.  Come  right 
in  with  us  at  five  thousand  dollars  a  year  to 
begin  with.  In  two  or  three  years  you'll  be 
making  five  times  that.  Don't  stand  in  your 
own  light,  Mat.  It's  your  good  I'm  thinking 
of.  And  the  chance  I'm  offering  you  doesn't 
come  in  every  man's  way." 

Porter  paused  before  he  answered  and  when 
he  did  answer  it  was  with  much  seriousness. 
"  I  appreciate  your  kindness,  Mr.  Ferguson. 
I  must  seem  like  a  fool  to  refuse  it.  You  spoke 


MATTHEW  SORTER  91 

of  a  gambler's  chance.  I  suppose  there  is  a 
little  of  the  gambler's  spirit  in  me.  Yet  I  like 
to  think  there  is  something  else  also." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Ferguson,  with 
some  irritation.  "  But  don't  answer  me  now, 
Mat.  The  thing  will  keep  for  awhile.  Think 
it  over."  He  rose,  as  he  spoke.  "  I'll  leave 
Margaret  to  persuade  you.  She  knows  how 
better  than  I." 

Porter  rose  also,  shook  hands,  and  again  ex 
pressed  his  sense  of  Ferguson's  kindness.  "  I 
shall  not  forget  it,  whatever  happens,"  he  said. 

Then  Margaret  was  left  alone  with  her  lover. 
Her  talk  with  Heath  in  the  same  room,  such 
a  little  time  ago,  was  vividly  present  to  her 
mind.  So  many  circumstances  were  the  same. 
But  the  men  were  so  different. 

"  Well?  "  she  began  at  length.  "  You  refuse 
my  father's  offer." 

Instead  of  answering  her  directly,  he  burst 
forth  all  at  once  with  the  tide  of  hopes,  and 
doubts,  and  passions,  which  had  tormented  him 
since  he  had  seen  her  last.  "  Margaret,"  he 
cried,  "  Margaret,  I  don't  think  you  can  know 
wrhat  all  this  means  to  me.  You  put  it  plainly 
enough,  clearly  enough,  when  we  talked  to 
gether  before.  '  Either  give  up  politics,'  you 
said,  '  or  give  up  me.'  But  surely  you  can't 
know  what  it  means.  For  ten  years  I've  cher 
ished  the  idea  —  call  it  a  dream,  if  you  like. 
I've  watched  the  condition  of  public  affairs  in 
Massachusetts  —  in  every  state.  I've  heard  the 


92  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

cry  of  corruption  on  all  sides.  IVe  seen  the 
swell  of  contending  passions  —  now  a  strong 
man  throwing  himself  into  the  breach  in  desper 
ate  effort  at  reform,  now  a  cynic  coming  along 
and  saying  that  reform  is  impossible  and  that 
popular  government  is  an  absurd  failure.  I've 
watched  —  and  IVe  said  to  myself,  there's  only 
one  way  and  I  know  that  way.  It  may  not 
succeed,  but  it's  the  only  thing  in  sight  that  can. 
It  ought  to  be  tried  and  I'm  the  one  to  try  it. 
I  don't  say  it's  all  patriotism.  I'm  ambitious. 
Of  course  I'm  ambitious.  I  want  to  try  the 
scheme  myself  —  and  be  governor  myself.  And 
then,  Margaret,  when  IVe  thought  of  these 
things,  you've  always  been  the  first  figure  in 
the  picture.  We've  grown  up  together.  IVe 
loved  no  woman  but  you.  IVe  known  no 
woman  but  you.  IVe  so  little  to  give  you  now. 
But  I  hope,  yes,  Margaret,  I  believe,  that  the 
time  will  come  when  I  shall  have  as  much  to 
give  you  as  a  man  can  give.  I  believe  in  my 
idea  absolutely,  yes,  absolutely.  And  every 
thing  it  brings  me  I  am  ready  to  lay  down  at 
your  feet.  —  Now  you  come  and  ask  me  to  give 
it  up.  Margaret!" 

She  had  heard  him  out  in  silence,  .leaning 
back  in  the  great  chair,  her  head  resting  on  her 
hand,  her  face  turned  away  from  him.  Even 
when  he  had  ceased  speaking  and  the  passion  of 
his  last  appeal  was  ringing  in  her  ears,  she  said 
nothing  for  a  long  time,  but  gazed  motionless 
at  the  smouldering  fire  in  front  of  her. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  93 

But  at  last  she  answered  and  her  voice  was 
cold  and  quiet.  "  It's  a  gambler's  chance,  as 
papa  says,  and  you  go  at  it  like  a  gambler, 
staking  your  all  on  this  one  wild  throw.  I 
don't  know  much  about  your  idea.  I  never 
trouble  myself  about  politics.  But  I  do  know 
that  the  world  is  full  of  cranks  who  think 
they've  got  a  secret  that  will  make  everything 
right,  who  go  around  saying  that  if  only  they 
had  their  way  there  would  be  no  trouble  and  no 
corruption.  Why,  Mat,  haven't  you  seen  plenty 
of  that,  don't  you  know  them?  " 

"  You  think  I'm  one  of  them? "  he  asked 
hoarsely,  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands. 

There  was  a  shade  more  softness  in  her  tone, 
as  she  replied.  "  No,  I  don't  think  you're  one 
of  them  yet.  But  you  will  be,  if  you  go  on. 
And  if  my  husband  was  a  man  like  that,  I'd 
shoot  him.  Mat,"  she  continued,  and  her  voice 
was  softer  still,  soft  and  winning  with  the  old 
subtle  charm  that  had  held  him  to  her  for  so 
many  years,  in  spite  of  clearer  thought  and 
better  judgment,  "  Mat,  you  say  you  love  me. 
I  love  you.  I've  never  said  that  to  any  man 
before  —  believe  it  or  not,  as  you  like.  As  you 
say,  we've  grown  up  together,  and  there's  some 
thing  about  you  —  you're  better  than  I  am,  and 
I  love  you  for  it." 

She  drew  her  chair  nearer  his  and  laid  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  As  she  did  it,  a  shiver 


94  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ran  through  his  whole  frame;  but  he  did  not 
change  his  position. 

"  And  I've  come  to  the  marrying  point,  too," 
she  said.  "I've  made  up  my  mind  to  marry 
now  —  you  or  some  one  else.  There'll  be  no 
withered  old  maidhood  for  me.  But  papa  has 
told  me  flatly  he  will  never  approve  of  my 
marrying  you,  unless  you  give  up  politics  for 
the  present.  I  shouldn't  care  for  his  telling  — 
only  I  don't  approve  of  it  myself.  Mat "  —  she 
drew  nearer  still  and  slipped  her  arm  about  his 
neck  — "  Give  up  these  crazy  dreams  and 
schemes,  for  they  are  crazy.  Come  down  to 
common  sense  and  common  life.  Take  the 
world  as  other  people  take  it  —  and  take  me." 

It  was  his  turn  now  to  pause  before  answer 
ing,  and  he  stayed  there  silent,  his  face  buried 
in  his  hands,  her  arm  about  his  neck.  To  de 
bate,  to  decide,  to  think  even,  in  that  rush  and 
tumult  of  his  blood  was  well-nigh  impossible. 
Yet  not  for  an  instant  did  he  really  imagine 
that  he  might  yield,  might  forget  his  high  ideals 
or  throw  aside  his  golden  hope.  Nay,  in  that 
moment  of  close,  physical  contact  he  seemed  to 
feel  more  of  the  body  and  less  of  the  spirit  in 
her  hold  upon  him  than  he  had  ever  known 
before.  As  he  said,  he  had  grown  up  with  her, 
the  thought  of  her,  the  hope  of  her  was  inter 
twined  with  the  deepest  fibres  of  his  loyal  being. 
But  she  had  never  understood  him.  What  she 
had  said  to-night  showed  that  more  clearly  than 
ever.  A  crank,  she  had  called  him,  a  crank! 


MATTHEW  SORTER  95 

Crazy  dreams!  He  did  not  care  for  words,  but 
could  there  be  any  real  communion  between  him 
and  her? 

Then  she  drew  her  arm  away,  and  her  chair. 
And  he  sat  up  straight,  with  an  enormous  ef 
fort,  and  the  tumult  of  his  spirit  showed  in  the 
strangeness  of  his  voice.  "  Margaret,  I  can't 
do  it." 

"  Very  well,"  she  answered,  absolutely  calm 
and  cold.  "  Good-bye." 

"Margaret,"  he  began;  but  the  words  died 
on  his  lips.  Apparently  she  was  not  listening, 
not  even  looking  at  him. 

He  rose  in  silence  and  left  the  room,  and  she 
let  him  go  without  another  word. 

For  the  next  few  days  Miss  Ferguson  was  not 
an  agreeable  companion  to  those  who  were 
obliged  to  come  in  contact  with  her.  Her 
father,  soon  inferring  that  she  had  not  been 
successful  in  persuading  Porter,  attempted  to 
sympathize  —  or  congratulate  —  he  was  not 
quite  sure  which.  But  she  snubbed  him  sharply. 
"  Don't  bother  me,"  she  said.  "  Dudley  Heath! 
Is  he  a  man?"  Indeed,  whenever  she  thought 
of  Heath,  tried  to  fix  her  mind  on  his  clever 
ness,  his  social  gifts,  his  practical  sense,  she 
found  the  passionate  appeal  of  her  other  lover 
ringing  in  her  ears  and  at  the  sound  of  it 
all  Heath's  cheap  and  superficial  charms  and 
graces  withered  into  nothing. 

Nevertheless,  her  resolution  did  not  really 
waver,  and  the  next  time  Heath  came  to  see 


96  MATTHEW  SORTER 

her,  she  went  down  to  him  without  a  doubt  as 
to  the  result  of  the  interview. 

When  they  were  comfortably  seated  in  the 
same  proximity  as  on  a  previous  occasion, 
Heath  began  his  attack. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  say  this  is  the  last 
time  I  shall  come  to  make  love  to  you;  but  I 
hope  so." 

No  answer. 

"  Is  it?  "  he  continued. 

"Really,  I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "I 
should  be  tempted  to  prolong  the  process,  if 
I  thought  practice  would  improve  you." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  couldn't.  Love  like 
mine,  which  wells  right  out  of  the  heart,  is  born 
perfect  and  can't  be  improved  upon." 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  it 
away  impatiently.  "  It's  a  pity  that  such  an 
ideal  affection  should  be  wasted  on  me,"  she 
said,  "  because,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  love 
you  at  all." 

The  ardent  lover  received  this  thrust  with  en 
tire  equanimity.  "  Well,  to  meet  you  on  your 
own  ground,  I  may  as  well  say  that  I  don't 
love  you,  either.  And  between  us,  Margaret, 
being  what  we  are,  don't  you  think  this  non 
sense  might  as  well  be  dropped?  Love  is  for 
children,  a  puling,  feeble,  green-sick  sort  of 
business.  At  the  very  best  there's  nothing 
behind  it  but  deception  and  disappointment. 
You  dress  up  an  ideal  out  of  your  own  imagi 
nation  and  kneel  down  and  pray  to  it.  One 


MATTHEW  SORTER  97 

fine  day  the  glory  fades  and  you  see  it  as  it  is 

—  just  common,  mean,  selfish,  worthless  human 
nature." 

"  You  seem  to  speak  from  elaborate  expe 
rience,"  she  remarked,  in  the  unimpassioned,  far 
away  tone,  in  which  she  had  carried  on  the  con 
versation  hitherto. 

"  No,  I  assure  you,  not.  I've  read  all  about 
it  in  books.  It  is  mentioned  in  a  few,  as  you 
may  be  aware." 

If  she  was  aware,  she  made  no  sign,  sitting 
quiet,  her  long  lids  drooping,  as  if  she  were 
thinking  of  something  quite  different  from  Dud 
ley  Heath  and  his  book-learned  love-lore. 

But  he  was  not  discouraged.  "  Margaret," 
he  went  on,  "  if  we  marry,  let  us  do  it  with 
our  eyes  open  and  all  our  common  sense  about 
us.  If  we  do,  everything  will  go  right.  We 
don't  either  of  us  want  the  nonsense  of  love; 
that  is,  we  both  know  that,  if  it  has  a  certain 
charm,  it  is  nothing  but  wandering  moonshine 
in  the  end.  What  we  want  is  money,  success, 
to  have  a  good  time  and  do  something  in  the 
world.  Life  is  a  poor  thing,  just  tolerable  when 
you  get  the  best  of  it.  We  have  a  fair  chance 
of  getting  the  best  of  it  together." 

She  had  not  moved  nor  seemed  to  listen  to 
him  at  all.  Now  she  turned  slowly,  leaned  both 
hands  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  looked  at 
him.  "  Dudley,"  she  said,  "  a  week  ago  to 
night  Mat  Porter  sat  in  that  chair  and  talked 

—  so  differently  from  the  way  you  talk.     He 


98  MATTHEW  SORTER 

made  love  to  me,  don't  you  know,  real  love. 
It  may  be  wandering  moonshine,  but  it  was 
sweet." 

"  Well,  perhaps  Porter  can  out-talk  me  in 
that  line,  though  I've  had  some  compliments." 

"  But  can  he  outdo  you  every  other  way, 
that's  the  question." 

"  Exactly,  that's  the  question.  But  if  you 
ask  me,  frankly,  I  don't  think  he  can." 

"  I  don't  think  so,  either,"  she  said  reflect 
ively.  Then  firing  up  again  at  the  recollection 
of  that  other  night,  she  went  on,  with  hungry 
eagerness:  "But,  Dudley,  he  does  seem  like 
a  bigger  man  than  you." 

"I'm  going  to  be  governor,"  was  the  cool 
interruption. 

"  He's  so  much  handsomer  than  you.  His 
mouth  is  so  strong,  his  eyes  so  clear,  he  stands 
up  so  firm  and  vigorous." 

"  I'm  going  to  be  governor." 

"  He's  so  brave,  too,  not  ready  to  truckle  — 
like  you,  and  time-serve  —  like  you,  and  fawn 
and  flatter  where  he's  only  anxious  to  bite." 

"I'm  going  to  be  governor." 

"  And  he's  honest  and  honourable,  not  a 
cynic,  always  looking  for  low,  mean  motives. 
Perhaps  you  think  I'm  more  of  a  cynic  than 
you.  So  I  am  —  and  lower  —  and  meaner.  I 
could  never  live  with  him  —  nor  he  with  me. 
All  the  same,  I  appreciate  that  he  is  good  and 
noble  and  you  —  are  not." 

"I'm  going  to  be  governor." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  99 

"  I  know  it.  And  I  dare  say  you're  good 
enough  for  me.  Anyway,  I'll  marry  you." 

Even  Heath  jumped  a  little  at  this  sudden 
conclusion  of  her  eulogy  of  his  rival.  Then, 
anxious  to  signify  his  ecstasy  in  an  appropriate 
form,  he  would  have  clasped  her  to  his  heart. 
But  she  pushed  him  away.  "  Bother,"  she  said. 
"  That's  all  wandering  moonshine.  I've  said 
I'd  marry  you  and  I  will.  I  won't  go  back 
on  it.  I'll  swear  it  by  Mammon,  if  you  like, 
and  if  that's  the  one  to  swear  by.  But  go  away 
now  and  let  me  alone." 

He  went. 


CHAPTER    IX 

PORTER  had  made  his  choice  and  he  never  for 
a  moment  felt  that  he  could  have  made  it  other 
wise;  but  the  struggle  had  been  a  hard  one.  As 
he  thought  things  over,  in  the  revealing  light 
of  that  last  interview,  it  seemed  clear  that  he 
and  Margaret  could  never  have  been  happy 
together:  she  did  not  understand  him,  she  did 
not  trust  him,  to  put  it  simply,  she  did  not  love 
him,  at  any  rate,  not  as  he  loved  her  and  would 
have  wished  to  be  loved.  Yet,  reason  as  he 
might,  the  thought  of  her  was  bound  up  with 
all  his  memories,  with  all  his  hopes,  with  the 
whole  web  and  tissue  of  his  life.  Her  eyes,  her 
voice,  that  bloomy  softness  of  her  cheek  —  was 
he  never  to  kiss  it,  never,  never?  And  there 
came  over  him  a  sudden  wave  of  wild  regret 
that  he  never  had  kissed  it.  In  all  the  years 
of  his  devotion  to  her,  though  she  had,  of 
course,  known  his  love  and  others  had  known 
it,  he  had  always  treated  her,  always  thought  of 
her,  with  the  most  delicate  respect.  Now  that 
she  had  herself  done  what  she  could  to  shatter 
the  god  of  his  idolatry,  there  rushed  upon  him 
a  memory  of  vague  rumours  hinting  that  others 
had  not  always  been  so  delicate  as  he,  that 

100 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  101 

others  had  kissed  that  bloomy  softness  till  they 
were  weary  and  she  had  not  rebuked  them.  He 
had  never  believed  it  before ;  but  now  -  Was 
that  what  he  should  have  done?  Was  she  a 
woman  to  be  taken  by  storm  and  not  by  slow 
siege  and  soft  approaches?  And  in  the  tumult 
of  regret  and  humiliation  he  was  half -minded 
to  return  to  her,  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss 
her  blindly  again  and  again  and  again,  then 
cast  her  from  him  for  ever,  making  her  under 
stand  that  the  blight  of  rejection  had  really 
fallen  not  upon  him,  but  upon  her. 

The  haunting  torment  of  these  thoughts  made 
him  go  through  the  next  week  as  if  in  a  dream. 
The  necessary  routine  of  .business  seemed  almost 
intolerable  and  for  the  time  even  the  vision  of 
political  success  brought  no  charm,  no  consola 
tion.  What  would  success  be  now  that  he  had 
no  one  to  share  it  with  him? 

Saturday  he  went  up  to  Foxbridge  to  spend 
Sunday  with  his  sister  and  there  he  found  a 
little  relief.  Saturday  evening  he  had  a  long 
talk  with  his  friend  Marston,  from  whom  Por 
ter  had  originally  derived  his  political  ideas. 
The  two  agreed  that  the  time  for  action  had 
come,  and  that  if  a  Democratic  campaign,  or 
ganized  according  to  their  views,  did  not  suc 
ceed  now,  it  must  at  least  lead  to  overwhelming 
success  a  little  later  on.  This  was  some  com 
fort. 

Then  Sunday  Porter  told  the  whole  story  to 
his  sister.  Miss  Porter  was  not  a  person  of 


102  MATTHEW  SORTER 

many  words.  She  was  tall,  dark,  and  quiet, 
with  dark  eyes,  an  oval,  olive  face,  and  snow 
white  hair.  She  was  much  older  than  her 
brother  and  had  brought  him  up  from  boyhood, 
and  he  and  his  interests  were  all  her  world.  She 
had  never  liked  Margaret  Ferguson,  nor  hoped 
for  the  match;  but  she  had  never  attempted  to 
interfere  with  it,  doubting  the  usefulness  of  such 
attempts.  Now  everything  had  turned  out  just 
as  she  had  wished.  Nevertheless,  she  sympa 
thized  with  her  brother's  suffering  at  the  mo 
ment. 

"  You  were  wiser  than  I,  Clara,"  he  said. 
"  You  disbelieved  in  it  from  the  beginning." 

"  I  am  no  judge  of  such  matters,"  was  the 
placid  answer.  "  Besides,  there  may  have  been 
a  little  jealousy  in  my  feeling." 

"  Nonsense!    You  jealous!  " 

"  Every  woman  is  jealous  of  what  she  loves, 
I  fancy.  And  every  man,  too,  for  that  matter." 

"  Well,  it's  all  over  now,"  he  continued,  after 
a  long  silence.  "  But  it  hurts." 

"  Life  hurts.  It  it  weren't  for  the  thought 
of  something  higher,  I  don't  know  how  we 
should  endure  it.  But,  after  all,  you  have 
everything  before  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  it.  Just  now  it  seems  as  if 
everything  were  behind.  Clara,  what  is  the  use, 
even  if  I  succeed,  all  alone,  no  wife,  no  children 
—  just  solitude  to  the  very,  very  end?" 

She  was  a  woman  of  such  grave  discretion 
that  she  did  not  even  hint  that  she  would  share 


MATTHEW  SORTER  103 

his  solitude  and  be  to  him  instead  of  wife  and 
children,  did  not  remind  him  that  she  had  only 
solitude  before  her  —  no  wife,  no  children  — 
and  no  success.  Nay,  she  did  not  even  suggest 
the  possibility  of  another  love,  another  wife,  and 
children  who  might  have  a  better  inheritance 
than  Margaret  Ferguson's.  She  talked  more 
simply  and  more  practically,  advised  leaving 
the  distant  future  to  adjust  its  own  affairs,  dis 
cussed  immediate  prospects,  political  schemes, 
political  friends,  in  a  tone  that  of  itself  carried 
great  balmy  depths  of  quiet  sympathy.  And 
Porter,  returning  to  town  next  day,  found  life 
more  bearable  by  many  degrees. 

Tuesday  morning  Flitters  telephoned  and 
urged  Porter  to  go  to  Viola's  with  him  that 
evening.  Porter's  first  instinct  was  to  refuse. 
Men  he  must  see ;  but,  at  least,  women  —  Then 
common  sense  protested.  A  new  atmosphere 
was  just  what  he  required,  contact  with  differ 
ent  people,  with  different  interests.  He  need 
never  go  again  if  he  did  not  wish;  but  just 
now  it  would  be  better  than  the  long  reflecting 
hours  in  his  solitary  rooms.  '  Very  well,"  he 
answered.  "  I'll  go." 

So,  about  half -past  eight,  the  two  arrived  at 
Viola's.  They  found  the  whole  company  as 
sembled.  As  they  slipped  in  quietly,  Flora  was 
singing,  with  her  back  turned  to  them,  and  they 
stood  by  the  door  till  she  had  finished.  This 
gave  Viola  a  few  moments  to  examine  her 
guest's  appearance  and  she  was  pleased.  There 


104  MATTHEW  SORTER 

was  something  dignified  in  his  simple,  frank 
bearing,  something  manly  and  commanding  in 
his  look,  which  made  her  feel  that  she  should 
not  regret  the  step  she  had  taken. 

When  Flora  finished,  Flitters  came  forward 
and  performed  the  necessary  introduction. 
"  Viola,  here  is  a  gentleman  to  whom  life  is  all 
dead  earnest.  I  told  him  that  this  was  the 
place  to  get  a  Ph.  D.  —  doctor  of  folly  —  and 
that  earnestness  could  not  live  long  in  this  at 
mosphere.  Porter,  only  one  subject  of  talk  is 
absolutely  forbidden  —  politics.  I  hope  it  won't 
result  in  total  dumbness  on  your  part." 

But  Viola  interposed,  with  her  usual  tranquil 
grace.  "  I  need  not  tell  you,  Mr.  Porter,  that 
this  gentleman  has  taken  all  the  possible  degrees 

—  and  some  impossible  —  in  the  science  he  al 
ludes  to.     The  rest  of  us  understand  what  seri 
ousness  is  —  and  can  practise  it  on  occasion  — 
sometimes  find  it  even  a  little  difficult  to  shake 
off.    To  George  it  has  the  peculiar  terrors  which 
always  accompany  the  unknown." 

Porter  hastened  to  disclaim,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  attribution  of  undue  solemnity,  but  Flitters 
interrupted.  "  You're  so  far  gone  in  the  dis 
ease  that  you  don't  even  know  the  symptoms. 
And  to  tell  the  truth,  Viola  herself  is  by  no 
means  what  she  should  be.  But  there  are  some 
of  us  here  "  —  he  looked  round  at  the  company 

—  "  who  know  better  what  life  is  and  how  to 
make  the  most  of  it." 

Without  more  words,  he  went  to  the  piano 


MATTHEW  SORTER  105 

and  played  a  rollicking  air  which  could  not  be 
accused  of  unnecessary  seriousness.  And  all  the 
company,  except  Viola,  joined  with  utter  aban 
don  in  the  chorus,  while  Porter,  sitting  quietly 
beside  his  hostess,  thought  that  if  he  was  seeking 
something  different  from  the  solitude  of  his 
own  chambers,  he  had  certainly  found  it. 

Then  Laura  read  some  verses  in  the  fashion 
of  a  Chaucerian  prologue,  full  of  sharp  hits  on 
every  member  of  the  company,  and  particularly 
characterizing  Flitters  as: 

"  A  clown  three  centuries  behind  his  day, 
Who  thinks  the  world  a  place  for  him  to  play. 
Supreme  in  wit,  he  spends  his  wit  on  nothing 
But  booming  useful  articles  of  clothing. 
From  morn  to  night  he  spins  an  idle  jest 
And  thinks  the  wise  should  move  at  his  behest, 
Wiser  than  they,  so  he  himself  declares; 
For  he  finds  laughter,  where  the  wise  find  cares." 

Other  readings  followed  and  other  songs; 
and  Porter,  unaccustomed  as  the  tone  of  things 
was  to  him,  found  himself  wonderfully  at  ease. 
This  was,  of  course,  largely  owing  to  Viola's 
tact.  She  said  a  quiet  word  to  him  about  each 
of  the  company,  about  Flora's  singing,  Grace's 
painting,  Laura's  literature.  She  laughed  at 
Flitters's  nonsense  and  half-apologized  for  it, 
and  all  the  time,  perhaps  without  intending  it, 
she  gave  Porter  to  understand  that  she  was  not 
quite  at  home  with  these  idlers  and  laughers  any 
more  than  he  was,  that  life  meant  something 
more  to  her,  or  might  mean  more,  than  a  jest, 


106  MATTHEW  SORTER 

or  even  a  song.  She  did  not  say  this  in  so  many 
words,  made  no  such  approach  to  sudden  inti 
macy.  That  was  not  her  way.  Probably  Por 
ter,  keen  as  he  was  at  analysis,  would  not  even 
have  formulated  it  for  himself.  Yet  he  realized, 
in  some  vague  fashion,  that  she  was  making  him 
feel  at  home. 

Up -stairs,  in  the  supper-room,  Flitters  took 
charge  of  the  newcomer,  led  him  from  group  to 
group  and  gave  him  a  characteristic  introduc 
tion  to  each  one.  "  Miss  Buckingham,  my 
cousin,  —  charming  girl,  —  Grace  her  name, 
grace  her  nature  —  paints  exquisite  things,  not 
much  truth,  but  feeling.  Miss  Ruth  Nelson  — 
has  one  more  dimple  than  Grace,  but  a  much 
more  uncertain  temper  —  you  have  to  make  love 
to  her  with  extreme  caution,  which  rather  en 
hances  the  piquancy;  sculpts  occasionally.  Mr. 
Eugene  McCarthy  —  plays  the  violin  like  Or 
pheus,  so  that  even  politicians  and  Standard 
Oil  magnates  dance  after  him  —  a  virtuoso,  I'm 
sure,  though  why  a  great  musician  should  be 
called  a  virtuoso  I  have  never  been  able  to 
make  out,  a  kind  of  lucus  e  non  lucendo,  I  sup 
pose.  He  and  I  are  doing  a  comic  opera  to 
gether.  Miss  Laura  Wells  —  I  say  nothing 
about  her,  because  you've  heard  her  describe 
me.  Miss  Flora  Chantrey  —  she  appears  com 
monplace  enough,  but  she's  divine  to  listen  to, 
when  she  sings  —  when  she  talks,  there's  noth 
ing  divine  about  her;  in  fact,  I  sometimes  think 
—  Miss  Constance  Weber,  I  don't  know  her 


MATTHEW  SORTER  107 

much  better  than  you  do  as  yet,  but  she's  at 
tractive  to  look  at,  isn't  she? " 

After  supper  there  was  more  music.  McCar 
thy  was  urgently  solicited  to  play,  but  again 
refused.  "  I  can't,"  he  said.  "  I  can't.  I  don't 
feel  like  it.  So  where's  the  use  of  trying?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Flitters,"  began  Constance. 

"  Mr.  Flitters ! "  groaned  the  person  ad 
dressed.  "  A  pair  of  Hanks's  on  the  shoulders 
of  a  Greek  god! " 

"  Well,  Flitters  then.  You  should  have  heard 
him  play  last  week.  It  was  heavenly." 

"  I  dare  say.  He  plays  to  me,  when  we  are 
making  the  opera.  It's  heavenly,  of  course; 
but  it  gets  awfully  in  the  way  of  my  ideas." 

Meantime  Porter  was  looking  over  Viola's 
latest  photographs  with  Ruth  and  Flora. 

"  Mr.  Porter,"  Flora  urged,  "  do  talk  politics 
to  us." 

"  I  thought  that  was  forbidden,"  he  answered, 
smiling. 

"  Nonsense,"  Ruth  chimed  in.  "  He's  busy 
over  there  with  Constance.  Besides,  we're  a 
free  people,  after  all.  I  think  politics  must  be 
so  fascinating." 

"  They  are  —  to  persons  who  don't  know  any 
thing  about  them.  Excuse  the  impertinence." 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  know  anything  about 
them,"  Ruth  went  on.  "  And  I'm  not  for 
woman's  rights,  of  course,  or  that  sort  of  non 
sense.  But  it  must  be  such  fun." 

"  Ruth    would    be    enthusiastic,    if    she    were 


108  MCATTHEW  CPORTER 

talking  to  an  undertaker,"  interrupted  Flora. 
"  Excuse  my  impertinence  this  time,  Mr.  Por 
ter.  I  agree  with  her  about  politics.  It  must 
be  fun  to  abuse  people  right  and  left  and  call 
them  thieves  and  liars  for  doing  just  what  you 
are  doing  yourself." 

"  Ah,  but  one  doesn't  lie  and  steal  one's 
self,"  Porter  objected,  not  too  seriously. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not.    It's  only  the  others." 

At  this  point  Viola  came  up. 

"  Mr.  Porter's  talking  politics  to  us,"  said 
Ruth.  "  Isn't  that  nice?  " 

"  No,"  remonstrated  Porter,  with  much  de 
cision,  "  I  was  only  listening." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  was  Viola's  sympa 
thetic  answer. 

"  Come,"  Flora  cried,  very  indignantly,  "  I 
can't  stand  that.  Let's  go  where  we're  appre 
ciated." 

She  and  Ruth  went  and  Viola  and  Porter 
were  left  once  more  by  themselves. 

"  I  have  a  very  pleasant  evening  to  thank  you 
for,"  he  remarked,  after  a  moment's  quiet  ob 
servance  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  other  part 
of  the  room. 

"  I  am  glad.  You  must  come  again  —  and 
often,"  was  her  simple  answer.  "  It  may  seem 
a  rather  frivolous  world  here;  but  it's  less  so 
than  it  seems.  In  fact,  almost  every  one  has 
a  serious  purpose,  of  a  kind  —  except  myself  — 
and  George." 

"  I  imagine  you  have  a  serious  purpose  —  if 


MATTHEW  SORTER  109 

it  were  known."  He  turned  and  looked  at  her 
searchingly,  at  the  strong,  sweet  lines  of  her 
face  and  her  earnest  eyes. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  I  never  have  had 
one  yet." 

"  Then  it  must  be  that  your  make-up  is  so 
very  serious  that  you've  never  yet  found  any 
thing  serious  enough  for  it." 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  "  That 
sounds  appalling,  doesn't  it?  And  life  over 
flowing  with  such  serious  matter,  too." 

Here  Flitters  pounced  upon  them.  '  You 
two  cannot  stay  together,"  he  cried.  "  You 
spoil  all  the  mirth  of  the  good  company.  Your 
long,  earnest  faces  are  like  two  dull  black 
clouds  looming  up  on  our  sunshine.  We're 
going  to  act  impromptu  charades  now,  of  which 
the  one  chief  object  is  to  make  you  both  per 
fectly  ridiculous.  Come!  Come!  Come!" 

They  came  and  made  themselves  ridiculous, 
with  lamblike  humility  and  considerable  success, 
so  that  the  company  in  general  were  edified  and 
even  Flitters  condescended  to  approve. 

"  Haven't  you  enjoyed  yourself?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  left  Porter  at  the  door  of  his  chambers. 

"  I  have,"  was  the  evidently  genuine  answer. 

"  I  thought  so.  But  it  must  be  something  so 
unusual  you  hardly  know  it,  when  it  comes. 
Try  it  again  soon.  It'll  make  you  a  better  man 
and  a  better  governor." 


CHAPTER   X 

MARGARET  had  been  receiving  congratulations 
and  cups  and  saucers  for  several  weeks,  when 
Viola  decided  to  call  upon  her.  The  two  had 
been  together  on  the  Nile  long  enough  to  be 
fairly  intimate  and  to  dislike  each  other  as 
thoroughly  as  one  does  dislike  an  uncongenial 
travelling  companion.  Since  then  they  had  ex 
changed  an  occasional  call  and  now  Viola  was 
somewhat  anxious  to  see  the  woman  who  had 
accepted  her  cousin  Dudley  —  and  refused 
Matthew  Porter. 

When  Viola  first  arrived,  there  were  other 
callers  and  the  talk  was  general.  "  Miss  Buck 
ingham  and  I  have  faced  the  Bedouins  to 
gether,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  fought  side  by 
side  against  the  horrid  extortioners  of  back- 
shish." 

"  And  climbed  the  pyramids  together,"  put 
in  Viola,  "  or  been  dragged  up  them  by  a  horde 
of  shrieking  savages." 

"  So  you  see  we  are  old  friends,"  the  hostess 
continued. 

"  And  soon  to  be  new  relations,"  was  Miss 
Buckingham's  final  comment. 

After  the  two  were  left  alone,  the  conversa- 
110 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  111 

tion  became  more  intimate.  '  To  be  sure,  you 
are  Dudley's  cousin,  aren't  you? "  Margaret 
began. 

"  Si  pen'3  protested  Viola.  Then  she  added : 
"  Of  course,  I've  come  to  congratulate  you,  with 
all  my  heart." 

Margaret  was  watching  her  visitor  closely, 
though  the  long,  drooped  eyelashes  somewhat 
veiled  the  inspection.  Word  had  come,  in  a 
roundabout  way,  to  the  Fergusons,  of  Porter's 
latest  social  move,  and  there  seemed  to  be  some 
thing  there  which  it  would  be  interesting  to 
investigate,  when  the  right  moment  should  ar 
rive. 

"  So  good  of  you,"  she  murmured.  "  You 
probably  know  as  well  as  any  one  whether  there 
is  any  cause." 

If  she  thought  to  disturb  Viola  by  such  at 
tacks  as  this,  she  did  not  understand  her.  "  If 
you  mean  as  to  Dudley,  he  will  make  his  way 
in  the  world,"  was  the  imperturbable  answer. 

"Will  he  make  mine?" 

'  That  depends  upon  whether  yours  is  his." 

"  You  think  he's  incurably  selfish,  don't 
you?  "  Margaret  spoke  with  exquisite  simplic 
ity,  as  if  the  idea  were  rather  novel. 

"  Don't  you? "  answered  Viola,  with  equal 
simplicity,  but  of  a  very  different  kind. 

Margaret  lifted  her  eyebrows  in  an  unpleas 
ant  way  quite  usual  with  her.  "  A  man  is  so 
apt  to  be  one  thing  to  his  own  family  and 
another  thing  to  —  to  strangers." 


112  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Ah!  "  was  the  cahn  response.  "  I  suppose 
as  a  stranger  you  find  him  so  trying  that  you 
are  anxious  to  get  into  the  other  relation." 

The  talk  lapsed  momentarily.  "  Perhaps  it  is 
a  mistake  to  marry  in  any  case,"  Margaret  sug 
gested  at  length. 

"  Really,  I'm  not  in  a  position  to  say,  though 
I  incline  to  that  view,  unless  one  is  of  a  very 
domestic  temperament.  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear 
your  opinion  about  it  later." 

"  Later,  yes  —  but  how  about  too  late?  "  was 
the  thoughtful  comment.  "  You  see,  the  trouble 
is/'  she  went  on,  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand 
and  looking  out  at  the  pale  blue  February  sky, 
"  the  trouble  is,  one  has  got  to  be  either  mar 
ried  or  not  married." 

"  It  does  seem  so,"  agreed  her  visitor. 

"  If  you're  married,  you're  a  slave,  vexed, 
thwarted,  and  tormented  at  every  turn,  no  life 
of  your  own,  no  independence.  But  if  you're 
not  married,  you're  nobody,  a  maiden  aunt, 
a  utility,  a  withered  excrescence,  you  cumber 
the  earth,  unless  you  are  ready  to  run  at  every 
body's  beck  and  call.  When  one  begins  to  get 
a  clear  view  of  a  certain  age,  one  takes  these 
things  in.  You  must  have  done  so  often." 

"  Well,"  answered  Viola,  with  her  usual  tran 
quillity,  "  there's  no  doubt  about  the  age  in  my 
case;  but  I  don't  feel  the  state  of  things  to  be 
quite  so  desperate.  You  appear  to  me  to  look 
at  it  always  from  the  point  of  view  of  other 
people.  An  unmarried  woman  may  seem  a 


MATTHEW  SORTER  113 

withered  excrescence  to  others  —  some  others  — 
and  some  unmarried  women ;  —  but  I  don't  see 
why  she  should  be  so  to  herself.  I  have  thought 
that  if  she  chose,  she  might  be  full  of  sunshine 
and  ripe  sweetness  and  might  radiate  a  good 
deal  of  the  same  to  those  about  her." 

Margaret  lifted  her  eyebrows  again  in  that 
ugly,  sarcastic  way  she  had.  "  You're  an  op 
timist,  aren't  you?  Like  Mat  Porter." 

"  I  don't  know  about  Mr.  Porter.  And  I've 
never  thought  myself  much  of  an  optimist.  An 
optimist  is  a  person  who  tries  to  make  the  best 
of  what  he  feels  to  be  a  very  bad  bargain. 
That's  why  they're  so  tiresome.  I  believe  in 
taking  life  as  it  is." 

But  Margaret  was  not  interested  in  abstract 
views  of  life.  She  wanted  the  personal  element. 
"  I've  understood  that  you  do  know  about  Mr. 
Porter,"  she  said. 

"Ah?"    was  the  cool  reply. 

"  Why,  yes,  who  told  me  now?  That  he  had 
been  to  your  —  your  —  what  shall  I  call  them 
—  evenings?  " 

"  Well,  you  might  call  them  evenings  —  if 
you  like.  Why  shouldn't  Mr.  Porter  come  to 
them? " 

"  No  reason  —  none  in  the  world.  I  suppose 
there's  no  reason  why  anybody  shouldn't  come 
to  them.  Only  —  " 

"  Only?  "  repeated  Viola,  but  with  no  annoy 
ance  in  her  tone  and  very  little  curiosity. 

"  .Only  he   seems   out   of   place   there.      You 


114  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

see,  he's  a  man  who  knows  nothing  about  the 
lighter  side  of  things." 

"  I  see." 

Margaret  went  on,  without  noticing  the  inter 
ruption.  "  He  has  been  brought  up  and  lived 
most  of  his  life  in  a  small  country  town  and  has 
come  very  little  in  contact  with  the  social  world. 
He  has  singular  ideas  of  his  own  about  politics 
and  an  almost  stupid  confidence  in  his  own  ideas. 
In  fact,  he  is  conceited,  there's  no  getting  round 
it.  Now,  you  know,  conceited  people  always 
take  life  too  seriously  and  I  fancied  the  —  the 
gaiety  of  your  companies  wouldn't  suit  him." 

4  You  have  heard  that  my  companies  are  — 
gay,  have  you?  I  think  you've  never  attended 
them  yourself." 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  so." 

"  Well,"  continued  Viola,  with  much  appar 
ent  thought  fulness,  "  I'll  bear  what  you  say  in 
mind  and  when  he  is  present,  we  will  endeavour 
not  to  be  too  —  gay." 

"  I  suppose  the  truth  is,"  Margaret  added, 
with  even  greater  thoughtfulness,  "  the  poor 
fellow  needs  diversion.  His  life  hasn't  been  all 
gaiety  lately,  and  probably  he  is  glad  to  get 
into  an  atmosphere  which,  for  a  time  at  least, 
may  drive  away  unpleasant  thoughts.  You 
know  how  it  is,  when  things  haven't  gone  just 
as  they  should  with  one.  I'm  sure  Mat's 
friends  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  you." 

Viola  reflected  more  deeply  still.  "  There's 
something  in  what  you  suggest,"  she  said. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  115 

"  But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  haven't  noticed 
that  Mr.  Porter  seemed  especially  cast  down. 
On  the  contrary,  he  gave  me  the  impression  of 
being  a  man  who  had  put  some  rather  trying 
things  behind  him  and  was  looking  forward  to 
a  great  many  noble  and  splendid  things." 

"  Ah,  yes,  that's  his  conceit,"  interrupted 
Margaret  sharply. 

"Perhaps;  but  he  doesn't  give  me  the  im 
pression  of  conceit,  only  of  self-confidence  and 
a  serene  grasp  of  his  own  future.  But  you 
know  him  better  than  I." 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  show  a  faculty  of 
positive  divination.  Do  you  generally  read 
people  so  successfully  —  or  only  those  you  are 
interested  in?  " 

"  I  can  read  some  people  —  a  little,"  an 
swered  Viola,  with  much  calm. 

Then  other  callers  were  announced  and  the 
tete-a-tete  was  at  an  end. 


CHAPTER   XI 

ALTHOUGH  Porter  fully  expected  Margaret's 
engagement  to  Heath,  the  definite  announce 
ment  of  it  at  first  brought  back  all  his  love  and 
all  his  suffering.  For  a  day  or  two  he  went 
about  his  work  mechanically,  having  only  one 
thing  really  present  in  his  thoughts.  Then  he 
pulled  himself  together,  wrote  Margaret  a  brief, 
frank,  affectionate  note  of  congratulation,  and 
tried  to  forget  her  in  his  political  interests, 
which  were  beginning  to  assume  a  more  definite 
form.  , 

One  or  two  articles  referring  in  a  general 
way  to  his  candidacy  had  already  appeared  in 
both  Republican  and  Democratic  papers.  The 
Republicans  were  civil,  but  contemptuous:  it 
was  natural  that  Democratic  candidates  should 
turn  to  outlandish  ideas,  for  on  any  basis  of 
ordinary  common  sense  the  chance  of  shaking 
Republican  control  was  too  evidently  hopeless. 
The  Democrats  commended  Porter's  courage 
and  praised  his  energy,  but  hinted  that  more 
was  to  be  accomplished  on  regular  party  lines 
than  by  any  fantastic  and  impracticable  notions 
of  reform. 

Porter's   association  with    Smith   grew   more 

116 


MATTHEW  PORTER  117 

intimate  every  day.  The  two  men  understood 
each  other.  Both  were  frank,  straightforward, 
in  earnest;  and  Smith  admired  infinitely  in  his 
leader  the  union  of  tact  with  outspokenness, 
which  was  by  no  means  so  conspicuous  in  him 
self.  The  two  went  over  their  campaign  plans 
in  many  long  talks.  Rooney  must  be  captured 
somehow,  Smith  insisted.  His  influence  in  Bos 
ton  was  indispensable. 

"  How  about  Maloney?  "    asked  Porter. 

"Oh,  the  Boss  won't  interfere.  That  isn't 
his  line.  He'll  have  a  talk  with  Rooney  occa 
sionally;  but  if  we  get  Rooney,  we've  got 
Maloney." 

"  And  Burke?  "    Porter  asked  again. 

"  Burke  won't  amount  to  much  for  us.  But 
he's  something  against  us.  I'd  like  to  get  him. 
If  he  finds  we're  strong  enough,  he'll  come  over. 
He  won't  go  for  the  nomination  unless  he's  sure 
of  getting  it.  Hinckley  I  believe  you've  got 
to  fight.  And  he's  the  worst  of  the  bunch." 

"  Then  we'll  fight  Hinckley." 

At  the  very  start  Porter  made  it  clear  to  his 
lieutenant  that  he  did  not  rely  on  winning  the 
nomination  or  the  election  by  machine  activity. 
"  I've  no  objection  to  that,"  he  said,  "  if  it  isn't 
too  crooked;  but  it's  not  my  strong  card." 

'  What  is  your  strong  card?" 

"  The  people.  When  the  time  comes,  I  mean 
to  speak  right  to  them.  If  you've  got  a  good 
thing,  advertise  it.  I've  got  a  good  thing  and 
I  mean  to  advertise  it." 


118  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"All  right,"  agreed  Smith.  "Advertise 
away.  It  won't  hurt/' 

But  the  labour  leader  had  been  in  politics  a 
good  many  years  and  was  a  little  sceptical  about 
novelties.  "  Better  do  what  we  can  on  the  old 
lines,  anyway.  You're  the  man  to  capture  the 
boys,  if  you  get  after  them." 

"  Oh,  111  get  after  them,"  responded  his  chief 
heartily. 

So  the  two  frequented  labour  reunions  and 
other  gatherings  both  political  and  social.  Por 
ter  spoke  when  necessary,  always  with  good 
effect.  He  shook  hands  with  the  boys  and  the 
boys'  wives  and  made  them  feel  that  he  was 
glad  to  do  it  —  as  he  was.  So  that  one  said  to 
another,  "  He's  the  right  sort,  ain't  he?  No 
doubt  about  it." 

All  this  came  easy  to  him;  for  in  spite  of  his 
quiet  bringing  up,  he  loved  people,  loved  to 
watch  them,  and  to  study  them,  and  to  sympa 
thize  with  them.  There  are  men  who  take  in, 
men  who  give  out,  men  who  do  both,  men  who 
do  neither.  The  last,  nine-tenths  of  humanity, 
do  not  count.  The  man  who  gives  out  always, 
who  is  always  overflowing  with  his  own  ideas 
and  efforts  and  drenches  others  with  them,  may 
go  far.  But  the  man  goes  farthest  who  is  no 
more  eager  to  give  out  than  he  is  to  absorb.  All 
really  great  men  have  been  excellent  listeners. 
And  Porter  was  an  excellent  listener.  He  had 
never  read  Lord  Chesterfield,  but  he  instinc 
tively  followed  the  maxim  of  that  wise  person- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  119 

age:  "Want  of  attention,  which  is  really  want 
of  thought,  is  either  folly  or  madness."  He 
watched  every  man  —  and  woman  —  he  came  in 
contact  with,  watched  him  and  adapted  himself 
to  him,  without  deceit  or  hypocrisy,  merely  from 
sympathy  and  a  desire  to  understand.  This 
mental  attitude  is,  I  take  it,  the  essence  of  tact; 
and  tact,  with  strength,  is  magnetism;  or  if 
magnetism  is  anything  more,  Porter  had  it  and 
used  it  to  the  best  advantage.  Even  Smith  was 
astonished  at  his  friend's  progress.  "  I  believed 
in  you  from  the  start,"  he  said,  "  but  I  thought 
you  might  be  kind  of  hold-offish.  You  ain't 
a  bit  of  it." 

Rooney  was  not  yet  captured,  however. 
Smith  visited  the  saloon  and  tried  his  hand  — 
not  very  successfully. 

"  Porter's  a  big  man  and  he'll  get  there. 
You'd  better  catch  on,"  he  said. 

"  Is  that  so?  "   answered  Rooney. 

;<  I  suppose  you're  not  fool  enough  to  believe 
in  Hinckley  or  anything  he'll  do  for  you? " 
pursued  the  ardent  proselyter. 

Rooney  winked  a  slow  wink  with  red  jocosity, 
the  meaning  of  which  obviously  was  that  Mike 
Rooney  would  not  trust  any  one  to  do  for  him 
but  himself. 

After  much  pointless  sparring  of  this  sort, 
Smith  did,  however,  succeed  in  persuading  the 
saloon-keeper  to  arrange  an  appointment  for  a 
visit  to  Porter's  office. 

"  You'll  have  to  make  it  worth  his  while  some- 


120  MATTHEW  SORTER 

how,  or  you  can't  touch  him.  That's  the  long 
and  the  short  of  it.  He's  out  for  the  dollars 
and  nothing  else,"  was  the  disgusted  lieuten 
ant's  report  to  his  chief. 

"  Well,"  was  the  smiling  reply,  "  I'm  not 
disposed  to  come  down  with  the  dollars;  but 
we'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

In  spite  of  his  entire  confidence  in  Smith, 
Porter  thought  it  well  to  do  some  independent 
work  on  his  own  account,  and  he  was  not  with 
out  other  agents  who  could  attend  to  business 
quickly,  quietly,  and  thoroughly.  As  book 
keeper  and  general  secretary  in  his  office  he  had 
a  certain  Joseph  Warren,  a  Foxbridge  Irish 
man,  whom  Porter  had  known  from  boyhood 
and  over  whom  he  had  always  had  considerable 
influence.  This  fellow  had  a  natural  gift  for 
political  management;  and  a  practical  training 
in  the  lower  forms  of  law  business  had  not  in 
any  way  interfered  with  his  inborn  aptitudes. 
He  was  quiet,  slow,  subtle,  cold,  dignified  in 
manner,  not  too  much  troubled  with  scruples; 
and  his  firm  belief  in  his  friend's  future  made 
him  willing  to  give  his  time  for  a  moderate  im 
mediate  compensation.  During  the  last  month 
or  two,  Warren,  at  Porter's  suggestion,  had 
been  making  biographical  investigations  in  re 
gard  to  certain  prominent  Democrats,  with 
some  very  interesting  and  surprising  results. 
Therefore,  when  the  time  for  Rooney's  visit  had 
arrived,  Porter  simply  turned  over  his  collec- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  121 

tion  of  cards  as  far  as  the  letter  R,  refreshed 
his  memory  with  the  facts  there  recorded,  and 
sat  down  to  wait. 

At  or  near  the  appointed  hour  Rooney  en 
tered  Porter's  office  with  his  usual  swagger, 
which  seemed  to  fill  the  world  —  his  world. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Rooney,"  said  Porter, 
shaking  hands.  "  Sit  down." 

Rooney  sat  down,  with  a  moderately  genial 
"  good  morning." 

Porter  proceeded  at  once  to  business.  "  Mr. 
Smith  tells  me  you're  a  good  man  to  talk  poli 
tics  with." 

"  Politics !  "  The  mere  word  conveys  nothing 
of  the  scorn  that  went  with  it.  "  What's  poli 
tics?  A  business  just  like  any  other  business, 
ain't  it?  That's  the  way  I  look  at  it." 

"Well,  you  may  be  right;  but  you'll  agree 
that  there  are  mighty  few  businesses  that  re 
quire  more  careful  handling." 

Rooney  had  expected  a  sermon,  not  this;  but 
he  only  grunted. 

Porter  continued.  "  Now  I  want  you  to  un 
derstand,  Mr.  Rooney,  that  I'm  in  the  fight  to 
win.  I've  got  a  few  ideas  in  my  pocket  that 
I  believe  in  and  that  are  going  to  help  me  along. 
I  don't  suppose  I  need  trouble  you  about  those. 
All  you  need  to  know  is  that  I'm  a  fighter, 
that  I'm  going  right  down  into  the  ring  without 
gloves,  and  that  I'm  going  to  get  there.  Do 
you  see? " 


122  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Rooney  appeared  slightly  impressed,  only 
slightly.  If  he  saw,  it  was  with  a  very  per 
turbed  and  shadowy  vision. 

The  attack  was  renewed  in  the  same  tone. 
"  I  suppose  you  want  to  have  the  Democrats 
win,  Mr.  Rooney? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  want  to  have  the  Democrats  win." 
He  couldn't  have  expressed  more  ardour  if  his 
wife  had  suggested  a  visit  from  a  few  of  her 
relations. 

"  And  you'd  rather  have  the  Democrats  win 
with  me  than  lose  without  me?  Wouldn't 
you? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you're  all  right."  But  again  the 
tone  implied  that  it  was  all  very  far  away  from 
Michael  Rooney. 

Porter  was  not  discouraged,  however.  "  Well, 
then,  if  that's  the  way  you  feel,  you  might  as 
well  get  down  and  dig;  for  as  I  told  you  before 
I'm  going  to  be  the  Democratic  candidate  for 
governor  of  Massachusetts  next  fall  and  the 
Democratic  party's  going  to  win.  And  Roo 
ney,"  —  Porter  was  slower  and  more  impressive 
now  —  "I'm  not  the  kind  to  make  promises 
and  I  won't  go  into  office  tied  up  in  any  way; 
but  I'm  not  the  man  to  forget  my  friends,  either. 
If  I'm  elected,  there'll  be  something  for  those 
that  have  helped  me  —  provided  they  behave 
themselves  and  deserve  it." 

This  sounded  more  like  politics  as  Rooney 
understood  them.  But  it  wasn't  practical.  He 
always  believed  in  the  bird  near  by  and  now  he 


MATTHEW  PORTER  123 

thought  was  the  time  to  see  what  kind  of  a  bird 
it  was. 

"  Say,  Mr.  Porter,"  he  began,  with  a  curious 
whine  in  his  tone,  "  this  sounds  pretty  big.  But 
I  can't  get  my  mind  off  somethin'  nearer  home." 

"  Ah?  "  said  Porter,  gravely  curious,  "  some 
thing  nearer  home?  " 

"  Yes.  You  see,  it's  this  way.  I'm  kind  of  in 
trouble." 

His  tone  demanded  sympathy,  but  none  was 
forthcoming;  so  he  continued.  "  It  takes  a  lot 
of  money  to  run  a  family  like  mine."  How 
large  a  family  it  was,  he  did  not  state;  but 
Porter  happened  to  be  aware  that  it  consisted 
of  Mrs.  Rooney,  whose  fat  cheeks  showed  no 
signs  of  trouble,  and  one  daughter  who  prom 
ised  to  be  as  fat  as  her  mother  and  was  already 
as  cheerful.  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I'm 
always  gettin'  behind.  There's  a  mortgage  of 
a  thousand  dollars  on  the  old  home  now." 

Again  he  paused  for  a  reply,  —  in  vain. 

"  Of  course  money's  nothin'  to  you,  Mr.  Por 
ter.  If  you  could  fix  it  so  as  to  lend  me  that 
thousand  dollars,  my  mind  would  be  easy,  and 
I  could  go  into  this  politics  business  and  make 
things  hustle." 

He  dropped  his  whine  towards  the  end  and 
squared  himself  a  little,  as  if  to  say,  "  My  cards 
are  down." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Porter's  calm,  cold 
face  showed  absolutely  no  response  to  either  the 
whine  or  the  defiance.  Turning  about  to  his 


124  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

desk,  he  took  some  papers  from  a  pigeon-hole 
and  looked  them  over  before  he  spoke. 
"  There's  a  little  matter  here  I  should  like  your 
advice  on,  before  we  go  any  further,  Mr. 
Rooney." 

Rooney  had  hoped  the  papers  might  be  blank 
checks.  Now  he  regarded  them  with  chilly  in 
curiosity. 

"  Year  before  last,"  Porter  went  on,  still  in 
the  same  unbending  tone,  "  there  was  a  sharp 
contest  for  alderman  in  Ward  Z." 

The  saloon-keeper  pricked  up  his  ears  a  lit 
tle  —  ever  so  little. 

"  The  Democratic  candidate  was  O'Brien,  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Maloney's.  He  ought  to  have 
won.  But  near  the  end  of  the  fight  somebody 
wrote  an  anonymous  letter  to  the  Republican 
committee,  giving  a  few  facts  that  O'Brien  did 
not  care  to  have  published.  They  were  pub 
lished.  And  O'Brien  was  sorry.  I  have  a  copy 
of  that  letter  here.  And  I  know  the  man  that 
wrote  it." 

As  Porter  brought  out  this  statement,  short 
and  sharp,  like  a  succession  of  revolver  shots,  it 
was  delightful  to  see  Rooney's  face  change.  All 
the  indifference  faded  out  of  it  and  instead 
there  came  a  mixture  of  anxiety  and  wrath. 

"  Now,"  continued  Porter,  "  would  you  advise 
me  to  go  right  to  Maloney  with  this  or  not?  I 
think  it  would  interest  him.  He  knows  that  the 
man  who  wrote  it  hates  O'Brien  and  would  have 
been  glad  to  down  him  if  he  had  dared.  When 


MATTHEW  SORTER  125 

he  reads  this  letter  —  you  see  it  says,  '  Maloney 
would  like  to  run  everything,  but  he'll  find  he 
can't.' ' 

"  It  don't  say  nothin'  of  the  kind,"  Rooney 
interrupted.  "  Maloney 's  name  ain't  in  it  at 
all." 

"  Why,  now  I  look  at  it  again,  I  see  you're 
right.  But  how  did  you  know?  "  As  Porter 
said  this,  he  smiled  genially,  for  the  first  time 
during  the  interview. 

Rooney  appreciated  the  smile,  but  did  not 
respond.  He  looked  quite  as  angry  as  ever  and 
a  good  deal  more  anxious.  '  You  can't  prove 
anything,"  he  growled. 

"  Well,"  was  the  calm  answer,  "  I'll  try.  I 
don't  think  Maloney '11  ask  very  much." 

Rooney 's  cheerfulness  was  not  increased  by 
this.  '  There's  only  one  man  in  the  world  that 
knows,"  he  said. 

"  Then  I'm  that  man.  But  I'll  tell  you,  there 
are  three  men  at  any  rate.  I  don't  know  how 
many  more.  The  truth  is,  my  friend,  in  a  little 
matter  of  this  kind,  there  ought  not  to  be  any 
man  that  knows.  But  the  trouble,  it  seems,  was 
whiskey.  Keep  away  from  whiskey.  There's 
a  man  you  drink  with  occasionally.  And  he 
drinks  occasionally  with  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Damn  that  Henessey!    I'll  wring  his  neck." 

'  That's  between  you  and  him,  of  course,"  re 
plied  Porter.  "  But  from  what  I've  heard  of 
him,  I  hardly  think  you  will."  Then  he  changed 
his  cold,  sarcastic  manner  for  the  simple,  direct 


126  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

tone  that  was  natural  to  him.  "  Now,  Rooney, 
we've  had  this  thing  out.  Let's  forget  it.  I 
don't  want  to  put  you  in  a  hole.  You  thought 
I  was  one  of  these  college-bred  fellows  that  talk 
a  lot  about  politics,  and  when  it  comes  down  to 
business,  they  don't  know  how  the  game  is 
played.  I  wanted  to  show  you  that  I  know  a 
thing  or  two  and  am  not  quite  such  a  fool  as 
I  look.  Do  you  believe  it?  " 

Rooney's  face  had  cleared  somewhat  during 
this  explanation.  "  I  believe  it,"  he  answered 
humbly.  "  I  guess  you're  all  right." 

"Will  you  work  for  me?"  continued  the 
other.  "Of  course  I  don't  expect  you  to  work 
for  nothing.  You'll  be  paid  for  your  time  what 
I  can  afford.  I  don't  trust  you  much.  You'd 
think  I  was  a  fool  if  I  did.  I  shall  keep  this 
letter  handy  —  right  here  —  see  ?  As  we  go  on, 
I  expect  you'll  be  more  ready  to  take  hold, 
because  you'll  find  things  going  my  way.  If 
I  win  out,  I  can  make  it  worth  your  while;  you 
know  that.  And  I'm  going  to  win  out." 

"  By  thunder,  I  guess  you  are." 

The  remark  had  a  ring  in  it  that  took  Por 
ter's  ear,  though  he  did  not  show  it,  even  by 
a  smile.  "  Now  as  to  Maloney,"  he  went  on. 
"  Had  I  better  see  him? " 

"  No,"  was  the  prompt  answer.  "  Maloney 
don't  want  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all.  He's 
got  his  hands  full." 

"  I  should  think  he  might."     There  was  just 


MATTHEW  SORTER  127 

a  hint  of  significance  in  the  observation,  which 
ought  perhaps  to  have  made  Rooney  blush;  but 
nature  had  guaranteed  him  against  the  exhibi 
tion  of  any  such  weakness. 

"  But  he's  on  your  side,"  continued  the  sa 
loon-keeper.  "  That  is,  he  will  be.  You  see, 
he  hates  Hinckley." 

"  Hates  Hinckley?    I've  been  told  as  much." 

"  And  Hinckley's  dead  against  you." 

"Why?" 

"  Dunno.  But  he  is.  Hinckley's  the  man 
you've  got  to  fight." 

"And  Burke?" 

"  Burke!  "  Evidently  Rooney's  opinion  of 
Burke's  importance  was  much  the  same  as 
Smith's. 

"  Well,"  said  Porter,  rising.  "  I'm  glad  we 
have  had  this  little  talk,  Mr.  Rooney.  I  think 
we  understand  each  other.  Of  course,  you  know 
Mr.  Smith's  managing  all  the  details  for  me. 
He'll  see  you  and  you  and  he  can  work  things 
up  together."  He  held  out  his  hand  cordially. 

Rooney  took  it.  "  All  right,"  he  answered. 
"  And  say,  Mr.  Porter,  the  boys  like  you.  Keep 
right  after  'em.  That's  what  does  the  business. 
They  say  there  ain't  no  c  stand  off  and  touch  me 
not '  airs  about  you,  and  by  thunder,  there  ain't, 
either.  Good-bye." 

Smith  ran  in  to  see  Porter  that  afternoon. 
'  What  have  you  done  to  Rooney? "  he  asked 
in  amazement. 


128  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

Porter  laughed.    "  Didn't  he  tell  you?  " 

"  No.  Just  said  to  me,  c  Say,  that  Porter's  a 
big  man,  ain't  he? '  " 

"  Well,  if  he  didn't  see  fit  to  tell  you,  I  don't 
believe  I'd  better.  These  corrupt  bargains 
ought  to  be  kept  quiet,  don't  you  think?  " 

Smith  dropped  the  subject;  but  his  admira 
tion  for  his  chief  was  perhaps  more  increased 
by  this  success  than  by  anything  that  had  pre 
ceded. 


CHAPTER   XII 

IN  all  these  personal  and  political  excite 
ments,  Miss  Buckingham  and  her  world  of 
fancy  almost  slipped  from  Porter's  mind  — 
almost,  not  quite.  Occasionally,  at  the  latter 
end  of  an  evening,  when  he  was  sitting  alone, 
he  thought  of  Flitters's  odd  gaiety,  of  all  the 
jest  and  song  and  colour,  and  felt  tempted  to 
renew  the  unusual  experience.  Something  about 
the  memory  of  the  hostess  was  pleasant  to  him 
also,  her  grace,  her  tranquillity,  her  dignity. 

At  length,  on  a  Tuesday,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  look  in  for  a  little  while.  The  jest,  the 
song,  the  colour  were  there  just  the  same,  as 
strange,  as  fascinating  as  before.  But  this  time 
the  figure  of  Viola  was  much  more  prominent 
to  him.  She  puzzled  him.  Was  she  glad  to 
see  him  or  not?  She  was  more  than  courteous, 
kind  and  gentle;  yet  once  or  twice  he  perceived, 
or  divined,  a  subtle,  momentary  reserve,  with 
drawal,  shrinking.  What  was  it?  Why  was 
it? 

Something  of  his  doubt  and  interest  was 
probably  manifest  to  Flitters,  as  they  walked 
home  together.  '  Why  don't  you  go  and  see 
her  some  off  evening,  when  you  can  talk  to  her 
alone?  Hasn't  she  asked  you  to?  " 

129 


130  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

Yes,  she  had  asked  him.  And  he  would. 
And  he  did. 

It  was  a  cold,  snowy  night  in  the  latter  part 
of  February,  when  Porter  found  himself  at 
leisure  and  inclined  to  make  his  call;  and  the 
soft  warmth  of  the  library  in  which  Viola  re 
ceived  him  seemed  peculiarly  attractive  and 
homelike.  Wingate  was  with  her  and  the  two 
men  greeted  each  other  cordially. 

"  Do  I  thank  you  for  the  good  word  in  the 
Intelligencer  the  other  day?  "  Porter  asked. 

"  It  wasn't  so  good  as  I  could  have  wished. 
But  we  have  to  consider  many  things  and  many 
people,  you  know.  Personally,  I  think  you're 
on  the  right  track  and  I  wish  you  luck." 

But  Viola  turned  the  conversation  from  poli 
tics  to  social  and  artistic  matters.  It  was 
mainly  between  her  and  Wingate;  and  Porter, 
as  he  listened,  answering  an  occasional  question, 
had  time  to  observe  his  hostess  more  carefully 
than  he  had  hitherto  done  in  the  crowd  and 
hurry  of  her  evening  assemblies.  Yes,  she  was 
very  dignified,  very  noble,  in  her  rich  yet  simple 
dark  dress  with  its  heavy  lace  on  the  front  and 
sleeves.  There  was  something  commanding  in 
her  purely  cut  forehead,  in  her  deep-set,  dark, 
searching  eyes,  especially  in  her  voice.  Porter 
did  not  directly  compare  her  with  Margaret, 
would  not  have  done  so,  yet  none  the  less  he 
was  conscious  of  a  certain  distinction  which 
Margaret,  with  all  her  grace  and  all  her  charm, 
had  never  quite  achieved. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  131 

Then  Wingate  departed,  suspecting,  perhaps, 
that  the  other  two  would  get  on  better  without 
him.  Ease  did  not  come  quite  at  once,  however. 
Viola  did  not  wish  to  talk  politics  and  Porter 
was  not  a  ready  conversationalist  on  any  other 
topic.  She  tried  to  continue  the  subject  she  had 
been  discussing  with  Wingate  —  the  possibility, 
probability,  of  any  characteristic  American 
painting  or  sculpture.  But  Porter's  answers 
were  vague  and  did  not  seem  to  touch  the  real 
merits  of  the  question. 

"  Don't  you  care  for  pictures?  "  she  asked  at 
length,  abruptly. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  very  much  about 
them."  Yet  his  tone  was  not  quite  the  common 
one  which  implies  a  pride  in  the  confession  of 
ignorance,  and  she  felt  it. 

"Don't  you  want  to?" 

"  Of  course;  but  my  life  has  been  busy,  and 
the  list  of  things  I  know  nothing  about  is  so 
immense  that  I  try  to  shut  my  eyes  to  it." 

"  It's  a  pity  to  do  that,"  she  said,  but  with 
gentleness  and  as  if  she  understood  his  attitude. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  should  keep  our  eyes 
open  always  —  for  things  and  people.  The 
more  one  is  bent  on  following  one's  own  path, 
the  more  one  gains  by  a  glimpse  at  the  paths 
of  others.  Don't  you  think  so? "  And  hardly 
waiting  for  his  silent  agreement,  she  went  on: 
"  Especially  as  to  pictures  and  everything  beau 
tiful,  it  isn't  a  question  of  knowing  at  all,  but 
of  feeling,  of  letting  one's  self  feel.  Don't  you 


132  JXCATTHEW  SORTER 

think  that  the  thing  that  stays  by  us  most,  that 
develops  and  enlarges  our  natures  most,  that  is 
most  sure  and  firm  and  unfailing  in  these  days 
of  doubt  and  disbelief,  is  the  thing  that  is  beau 
tiful?  " 

She  was  challenging  him,  and  she  knew  it. 
If  they  were  to  be  friends,  associates,  if  he  was 
to  enter  her  world,  if  he  cared  to,  he  might  as 
well  know  her  creed  and  where  she  stood. 

But  he  received  her  challenge,  not  defiantly, 
rather  in  a  puzzled  way,  as  if  he  recognized  a 
new  standpoint  and  was  seeking  to  adjust  him 
self  to  it.  "What  is  beautiful?"  he  asked. 
"  Isn't  that  a  matter  of  doubt  and  dispute  as 
much  as  anything  else? " 

"  Ah,  no,"  she  answered,  with  all  her  quiet 
enthusiasm.  "  Not  what  is  beautiful  to  you,  to 
me.  What  troubles  us  who  are  accustomed  to 
analysis,  to  trust  our  cold,  uncertain  intellect, 
is  the  question  of  what  is  beautiful  to  others,  of 
what  ought  to  be  beautiful,  still  the  theory  of 
things,  the  old,  old  speculation  and  questioning. 
What  counts,  all  that  really  counts  is  to  give 
yourself  up  to  what  is  beautiful  to  you  here  and 
now.  That  stimulates,  that  enlarges,  that 
broadens  and  glorifies.  It  may  be  that  what 
touches  you  now  may  not  touch  you  always. 
What  matter?  Leave  what  is  behind  and  go 
right  on.  With  every  step,  the  world  gets 
larger  and  larger  and  richer  and  richer." 

There  was  a  pause,  while  he  looked  straight 
at  her  with  a  slow,  sober  effort  to  comprehend. 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  133 

Then  his  glance  wandered  about  the  room,  to 
the  pictures,  to  the  scores  of  delicate,  graceful 
bits  of  beauty  which  she  had  gathered  round 
her  in  all  her  travels.  Again  the  puzzled  ex 
pression  came  into  his  face.  "  Life  is  so  com 
plicated,"  he  murmured,  "  when  you  come  to 
think  about  it.  Your  world  seems  different 
from  mine." 

She  made  no  answer,  watching  his  mental 
effort,  with  a  curiosity  which  surprised  even  her 
self. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  rude,"  he  went 
on;  "but  isn't  this  ideal  you  speak  of  wholly 
passive,  receptive?  I  believe  in  that,  too,  though 
I'm  afraid  I  neglect  it;  and  I  am  more  than 
grateful  for  anything  that  helps  me  to  develop 
that  side  of  my  nature.  A  man  ought  to  aban 
don  himself  to  what  is  not  himself,  to  lie  ut 
terly  fallow  and  let  the  world  play  upon  him. 
In  the  hurry  and  passionate  rush  of  modern 
life  we  forget  these  things  so  easily.  But,  after 
all,  is  that  the  real  aim  of  our  existence?  Are 
we  anything  without  activity,  good,  bad,  or  in 
different?  It  may  be  small  egotism  merely,  a 
petty  assertion  of  self  in  face  of  the  larger 
working  of  the  universe;  but  I  couldn't  be  con 
tent  simply  to  receive.  There  is  so  much  which 
it  appears  to  me  needs  to  be  done,  so  much 
that  can  be  done,  so  much  that  I  believe  I  my 
self  can  do.  I  can't  abstain  from  doing  it  — 
or  trying." 

He  was  saying  just  what  she  had  said  to  her- 


134  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

self  so  often  lately.  These  splendid  gifts  of 
humanity,  these  far-reaching  powers  —  were 
they  to  be  all  for  nothing?  The  very  faculty  of 
reception  itself,  was  it  not  made  so  rich  and 
varied  that  it  might  lead  to  richness  and  variety 
of  accomplishment?  Even  with  beauty  —  did 
not  the  abounding,  the  aching  sense  of  it,  in  all 
its  golden  glory,  tend  most  of  all  to  the  pas 
sionate  desire  to  create,  to  pour  forth  more 
beauty  which  should  bear  the  own  personal 
stamp  of  the  individual  creator?  But  politics 
—  and  abruptly  she  began  to  speak  her  many 
derogatory  thoughts. 

"  I  can  understand  the  desire,  the  necessity  of 
action,"  she  said.  "  But  —  you  will  pardon  me 
in  my  turn,  won't  you?  —  politics.  I  can't  quite 
understand  how  a  person  —  a  person  —  like  you 
can  have  anything  to  do  with  them.  They  seem 
to  me  so  bare,  so  sordid,  so  contemptible.  You 
must  have  to  mix  with  so  many  people  whom 
I  could  not  endure." 

He  smiled,  taking  her  scorn  in  good  part, 
even  if  he  felt  the  haughty  sting  of  it.  "  The 
world  must  be  governed,  I  suppose,"  he  said. 
"  More  than  that,  can  there  be  a  nobler,  higher 
form  of  activity  than  that  of  providing  for  and 
watching  over  the  general  welfare,  of  standing 
by  the  machinery  which  must  run  smoothly  for 
the  happiness,  the  existence  of  every  human 
being,  high  or  low?  " 

"It  sounds  well,"  she  answered;  "but  then 
the  trouble  must  be  with  our  way  of  doing  it 


MATTHEW  SORTER  135 

—  this  popular  government,  democracy,  uni 
versal  suffrage,  mob  rule.  How  disgusting  it 
all  is!  As  if  the  majority  were  not  fatally 
stupid,  ignorant,  blundering,  michievous.  To 
go  on  the  theory  that  the  greater  number  are 
necessarily  right,  when  it  is  so  obvious  to  the 
shallowest  comprehension  that  the  greater  num 
ber  are  necessarily  wrong!  " 

'  You  misunderstand,  you  misjudge,"  he  in 
terrupted,  not  smiling  now,  but  with  an  eager 
ness,  an  intensity,  which  astonished  her  and  fixed 
her  attention  at  once.  "It  is  true  that  a  hun 
dred  years  ago  everybody  thought  that  democ 
racy  meant  the  millennium.  Now  that  it  has 
come,  we  see  that  it  does  not  mean  the  millen 
nium  any  more  than  other  foolishly  heralded 
panaceas  for  the  varied  ills  of  poor  humanity. 
And  some,  the  best,  rush  to  the  other  extreme 
and  are  for  rejecting  it  altogether.  Yet,  when 
you  look  at  it  soberly,  perhaps  democracy  has 
done  all  that  could  be  expected  of  it.  As  I  said, 
you  misjudge  it.  Nobody  pretends  that  the  ma 
jority  is  all-wise,  or  all-virtuous.  Far  from  it. 
The  theory  of  those  who  believe  in  democracy  — 
and  I  am  one  of  them  —  is  that  the  majority 
will  govern  themselves  better  than  any  class  can 
be  trusted  to  govern  them.  An  upper  class  or 
a  despot  may  know  better;  but  will  any  upper 
class  or  any  despot  do  better?  Any  class,  no 
matter  how  high  or  holy,  will  think  of  itself 
first  and  of  the  people  only  afterwards.  The 
average  man  of  the  people  wants  good  govern- 


136  MATTHEW  TORTER 

ment  because  he  has  everything  to  gain  by  good 
government,  everything  to  lose  by  bad." 

"  But  how  can  they  know?  "  she  asked,  more 
with  the  desire  to  hear  his  answer  than  to  push 
her  own  argument.  "  They  are  so  easily  de 
ceived  and  so  often." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said  frankly.  "  That  is 
the  great  weakness.  But  the  people  must  learn, 
are  learning,  will  learn.  What  is  a  hundred 
years  to  work  out  such  an  experiment  as  this? 
Human  organizations  are  not  perfected  at  once, 
but  only  with  shocks  and  jars,  perpetual  break 
ages  and  set-backs,  failure,  disappointment,  in 
finite  labour  and  sacrifice.  Are  we  to  give  up 
and  stand  aside,  to  say  the  task  is  hopeless  and 
nothing  can  be  done,  because  everything  does 
not  go  just  as  we  wish  it? " 

"  But  the  people  as  individuals,"  she  urged, 
"the  surroundings,  the  associations?" 

He  smiled,  as  he  had  done  at  first,  when  she 
introduced  his  own  personal  part  in  the  matter. 
"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you'll  think  I'm 
not  very  fastidious;  but  I  like  the  people,  all 
the  people.  They  not  only  interest  me,  they 
attract  me.  I  don't  find  them  very  different  in 
politics  from  what  they  are  in  anything  else. 
Many  are  smooth  and  dishonest,  many  are 
rough  and  honest,  some  are  dishonest  and  rough. 
All  think  of  themselves  before  they  think  of 
you  or  me  or  the  other  fellow.  But  I  don't  find 
any  faults  in  any  of  them  that  I  haven't  my 
self,  though  sometimes  I  succeed  better  in  keep- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  137 

ing  them  under,  sometimes  not  so  well.  There's 
something  warm  about  humanity  to  me,  even 
when  it  lies  and  steals  and  is  obnoxious  gener- 
ally." 

She  listened  with  profound  attention,  but 
made  no  answer. 

When  the  clock  had  ticked  solemnly  for  a  few 
seconds,  he  spoke  again.  "  I  must  go.  When 
I  came  here,  I  had  no  idea  of  talking  shop.  I 
wanted  to  get  into  your  atmosphere  —  of 
beauty.  Politics  are  not  beautiful,  I  admit. 
And  I  need  the  other.  I  know  I  need  it." 

She  took  no  notice  of  this;  but  when  he  rose, 
she  shook  hands  with  him  and  said  earnestly: 
"  I  liked  your  talking  shop.  It's  all  rather  new 
to  me.  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  much  of  a  democrat 
by  nature;  but  it's  very  interesting.  Come 
again." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

IT  was  a  pleasant  day  for  Robert  Hinckley 
when  he  succeeded  in  getting  Burke  to  dine 
with  him.  Hinckley's  social  ascent  from  the 
gutter  had  been  laborious  and  doubtful,  much 
retarded  by  Mrs.  Hinckley,  who,  good-natured, 
fat,  red-faced,  and  effusively  vulgar,  would  have 
presided  more  aptly  in  the  kitchen  —  indeed,  it 
was  said  she  had  formerly  done  so  —  than  in  the 
dining-room.  Hinckley  knew  very  well  that 
even  Burke  represented  by  no  means  the  top 
of  the  Back  Bay  tree.  He  knew  also  that  al 
though  Burke  himself  accepted  the  proffered 
hospitality  for  purely  political  reasons,  Mrs. 
Burke,  and  that  very  airy  young  personage, 
Miss  Margaretta  Burke,  would  as  soon  have 
dined  in  the  county  jail.  Therefore  the  pleas 
ure,  like  most  of  our  pleasures,  was  somewhat 
embittered  in  the  mixture;  and  the  bitterness 
showed  itself  in  the  form  of  sharp  previous  ad 
monitions  to  the  unhappy  Mrs.  Hinckley. 
Poor  woman,  her  husband  did  not  try  to  save 
much  of  the  artful  smoothness  of  his  tongue  for 
her  and  she  had  learned  long,  long  ago,  that  an 
instrument  may  be  very  smooth  and  also  very 
hard,  very  sharp,  and  very  stinging.  She  cared 

138 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  139 

nothing  for  political  glories  which  simply  kept 
Bob  away  from  home,  nothing  for  social  tri 
umphs  which  meant  that  he  would  run  after 
women  who  would  laugh  at  her.  The  gutter! 
She  would  rather  have  stayed  in  it,  as  she  was 
born,  and  swum  around  contentedly  with  a 
drake  who  was  good  to  her  and  an  endless  brood 
of  little  ducklets,  cackling  and  scolding.  Now 
there  were  no  little  ducklets,  and  the  great  house 
on  the  north  side  of  Beacon  Street  seemed 
lonely  as  the  grave. 

"  Tom  Burke,"  she  said,  when  her  husband 
announced  the  visitor.  "  Well,  he  ought  to  be 
good  company  anyway.  Why  doesn't  he  bring 
his  wife  along? " 

"  His  wife  wouldn't  sit  at  the  same  table  with 
you,"  was  the  amiable  answer. 

"  Oh,  she's  another  swell,  is  she?  There  was 
a  Mrs.  Tom  Burke  —  Nellie  Flaherty  she  was 
—  over  on  Columbus  Avenue.  I  guess  she 
wouldn't  ha'  been  ashamed  to  sit  with  me.  And 
I'd  rather  it  was  her  that  was  coming.  Do  you 
remember  her,  Bob?  You  used  to  be  sweet  on 
her." 

"  No,"  said  Bob,  brutally.  "  And  see  here. 
Get  up  a  good  dinner.  That's  about  the  only 
part  of  the  thing  you  can  do  —  if  you  haven't 
forgotten." 

"  I  haven't  forgotten.  You  think  I'm  only 
fit  to  be  your  cook,  Bob,  don't  you?  But  I  am 
your  wife.  You  can't  get  rid  of  me  for  any  of 
your  swells.  Oh,  yes,  I'll  have  a  good  dinner." 


140  MATTHEW  SORTER 

She  did,  taking  a  humble  pride  in  being  able 
to  do  one  thing  that  would  please  him.  She  had 
a  good  cook  and  a  skilful  butler,  and  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  find  a  better  prepared  or 
more  attractive  dinner  in  Boston.  Nevertheless, 
as  long  as  she  was  present,  there  was  no  ease 
about  it.  Her  nervous  fear  of  her  lord  and 
master  was  equally  manifest  in  what  she  said 
and  in  what  she  didn't  say,  and  was  far  from 
lessened  by  the  quiet  sarcasm  with  which  he 
treated  her.  Even  Burke's  natural  Irish  seren 
ity  and  sweetness  could  not  warm  the  atmos 
phere.  He  tried  talking  politics,  but  Mrs. 
Hinckley,  as  her  husband  kindly  explained,  did 
not  know  the  difference  between  a  ballot  and  a 
balloon.  He  introduced  the  theatre;  but  she 
had  no  taste  for  anything  but  a  vaudeville  show 
and  didn't  dare  to  say  so.  In  desperation  he 
took  up  summer  resorts;  but  Mrs.  Hinckley 
had  little  knowledge  of  such  places.  She  had 
once  visited  Bar  Harbor.  "  But  the  women 
were  too  stuck  up  to  speak  to  me;  so  I  walked 
the  piazza  for  three  days  and  came  home." 

After  this  the  conversation  drooped,  till  the 
two  gentlemen  were  left  alone  to  their  liqueur 
and  cigars. 

"  And  now  about  politics,"  Hinckley  began. 

"  Just  so,"  agreed  the  other,  with  an  uncon 
scious  expression  of  relief  which  was  perfectly 
visible  to  his  host's  keen  eye.  "  About  poli 
tics." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  141 

"  Porter's  been  making  progress  since  we  saw 
each  other  last." 

"  So  I  hear.  He's  an  up-to-date  man,  Porter 
is."  Burke's  tone  expressed  something  of  dis 
couragement  and  something  of  grudging  admi 
ration. 

"  Well,  he's  got  some  new  ideas,  they  tell 
me,"  Hinckley  went  on,  in  a  slow,  meditative 
fashion.  "  Believes  in  some  dodge  or  other  for 
giving  the  governor  more  power.  That's  a  nice 
thing,  when  you're  going  to  be  governor  your 
self, —  if  you  can  work  it.  And  he's  in  for 
reform  —  wants  to  abolish  grafts  and  clean  up. 
It's  wonderful  how  these  people  who  have  never 
had  a  chance  to  make  any  dirt  themselves  want 
to  go  in  and  clean  up." 

"Reform!  Ideas!"  repeated  Burke,  with 
vast  contempt.  "  I'm  so  sick  of  all  that.  What 
good  does  it  do?  A  great  shouting  for  some 
thing  impossible  till  you're  elected  and  then  do 
nothing." 

"  Just  so,"  assented  the  chairman  quietly. 
"  You  and  I  know  that  in  politics,  as  in  every 
thing  else,  a  man  is  looking  out  for  himself. 
He  may  ride  a  high  horse  on  the  stump,  but 
when  a  good  graft  comes  his  way,  who  would 
be  fool  enough  not  to  take  it?  They  talk  of 
buying  votes.  Who  wouldn't  buy  votes,  if  he 
could  get  them  cheap  enough?  " 

This  was  pretty  plain  talk  for  the  gentleman 
Democrat  to  swallow,  as  the  speaker  shrewdly 


142  MATTHEW  SORTER 

guessed.  Hinckley  saw  no  other  candidate  at 
the  moment  who  would  serve  his  purpose  so 
well  as  Burke;  but  Burke  was  not  a  man  to 
inspire  unlimited  confidence.  Now  seemed  a 
favourable  opportunity  for  finding  out  whether 
there  was  anything  in  him  but  twaddle. 

"  Hm  —  hm  —  "  he  stammered,  floundering 
like  a  horse  pulled  up  too  short.  "  Isn't  that 
putting  it  rather  strong,  you  know?  " 

"  You  think  so?  Not  too  strong  for  Porter. 
He's  out  for  reform;  but  I  notice  he  isn't  above 
a  few  other  little  tricks.  Whenever  there's  a 
labour  meeting,  he's  there,  shaking  hands  all 
round  and  setting  up  the  drinks.  He's  after 
the  wives,  too,  and  daughters.  Goes  to  dances 
and  tells  'em  all  that  father's  the  biggest  man 
out.  He's  a  clever  one." 

Burke's  face  again  expressed  disgust.  "  I 
hate  that  way  of  doing  things,"  he  cried.  "  Of 
course,  if  a  man  honestly  likes  the  people  and 
goes  about  among  'em  for  the  fun  of  it,  that's 
one  thing.  I  can  take  a  drink  with  the  boys 
any  time,  and  enjoy  it.  But  we  all  know  Por 
ter  isn't  that  kind  of  a  fellow,  likes  to  get  off 
by  himself  with  a  book.  It's  hypocrisy,  that's 
what  I  call  it,  damned  hypocrisy." 

But  even  on  the  expletive  his  voice  weakened, 
as  he  caught  the  chairman's  cold  and  cynical 
eye  watching  him.  "  That's  right,"  said  the 
chairman,  "  damned  hypocrisy.  It's  fortunate 
you're  born  to  the  business  and  don't  need  any 
damned  hypocrisy  to  do  it  well.  For  a  man 


WCATTHEW  PORTER  143 

would  have  to  be  a  double  damned  hypocrite 
to  get  ahead  of  Porter." 

Burke  looked  exceedingly  discontented  and 
puffed  at  his  cigar  for  awhile  in  silence. 

"  Of  course  you've  heard  that  he's  got  Smith 
working  for  him  for  all  he's  worth?  "  Hinckley 
asked. 

Burke  nodded.     "  He  isn't  worth  much." 

"  Did  you  know  he  had  Rooney  pinched, 
too?" 

This  time  Burke  waked  up  and  responded 
with  energy.  "  Rooney?  How  in  thunder?  " 

"That's  what  I'd  like  to  know.  We'd  all 
like  to  know.  It's  just  another  of  Porter's 
little  tricks.  All  damned  hypocrisy." 

"  Well,"  said  Burke,  thoroughly  disgruntled, 
"  I  wouldn't  have  believed  a  man  like  Porter 
would  have  come  to  that  sort  of  thing.  Sets  up 
for  being  a  reformer,  rides  the  high  horse,  lec 
tures  everybody  for  political  dishonesty,  and 
then  puts  himself  into  the  hands  of  fellows  like 
Smith  and  Rooney." 

"  Everybody  who  wants  to  succeed  in  politics 
has  got  to  come  to  that  sort  of  thing,"  com 
mented  the  chairman.  "  Call  it  damned  hypoc 
risy  or  whatever  you  please,  a  man  who  does 
dirty  work  has  got  to  do  it  with  dirty  tools." 

More  discontent  on  the  visitor's  part,  more 
puffing,  and  more  silence.  Somehow  he  did  not 
feel  that  he  was  being  treated  with  all  the  defer 
ence  that  a  prospective  governor  deserved. 

But    Hinckley    had    pushed    his    lesson    far 


144  MATTHEW  SORTER 

enough.  Just  at  present  Burke  was  his  strong 
est  card,  though  a  weak  one ;  and  it  was  no  time 
to  throw  him  away.  So  the  chairman  dropped 
his  cynicism,  smiled  softly,  and  put  magic  into 
his  voice.  All  damned  hypocrisy  a  spectator 
would  have  said;  but  one  doesn't  discern  these 
things  so  well  when  one  is  the  object  of  them. 

"  Mr.  Burke,  you've  got  it  in  you  to  beat  this 
fellow.  As  you  say,  he  has  to  put  everything 
on;  but  you  do  it  naturally.  You're  the  most 
popular  Democrat  in  Massachusetts  to-day,  and 
I  might  say  the  most  popular  man  without  ly 
ing.  You've  got  the  party  behind  you  and  Por 
ter  hasn't,  for  all  his  Smiths  and  Rooneys. 
We'll  lie  low,  and  when  the  right  time  comes, 
we'll  put  you  through." 

The  first  words  of  this  speech  washed  the 
discontent  from  Burke's  countenance,  a  fact 
which  probably  lowered  him  more  in  Hinck- 
ley's  opinion  than  anything  that  had  gone 
before.  "  Of  course,  you  know  more  about  it 
than  I  do,"  said  the  most  popular  man  in 
Massachusetts. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  was  the  quiet  re 
joinder.  "  You  can  have  the  nomination,  if  you 
want  it.  And  I  believe  you  can  have  the  elec 
tion.  The  state  is  as  tired  of  the  Republicans 
as  the  country  is." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  was  the  modest 
comment. 

"  Well,  there's  no  doubt  about  the  nomination 


MATTHEW  SORTER  145 

anyway.  Naturally  there'll  have  to  be  some 
money  put  out." 

"  I  suppose  so."  Burke  and  money  were  not 
friendly.  He  had  a  fair  income  from  his  law 
practice,  and  his  wife  was  rich,  but  he  never 
knew  where  the  dollars  went. 

"  Well,  you  leave  that  to  me,"  Hinckley  con 
tinued,  mentally  registering  another  black  mark 
against  his  client.  "  Now  let's  go  over  the 
ground  a  little." 

So  they  canvassed  the  different  sections  of 
the  state,  discussing  this  man,  that  man,  and 
the  other,  as  prominent  in  local  Democratic 
circles,  and  checking  off  each  one  as  likely  to 
be  favourable  to  Porter  or  the  reverse.  The 
same  with  the  newspapers.  Some  were  regular 
old  reliables,  sure  to  support  the  machine  and 
any  candidate  for  whom  the  machine  tipped 
them  the  wink.  Others  were  cranky,  sore  over 
some  grievance,  always  inclined  to  take  up  with 
any  new  man  or  notion  that  presented  itself. 
These  must  be  fixed,  if  there  was  any  way  to 
fix  them. 

Through  it  all  Burke  found  his  host's  man 
ner  flattering,  caressing,  cajoling.  It  was, 
"  This  editor  will  be  in  your  interest,  I  think." 
"  The  chairman  of  that  committee  is  a  sorehead, 
but  he  couldn't  resist  you."  "  You'd  better  see 
Jones  and  say  a  word  to  him.  You  can  do  it 
just  right."  The  butter  was  not  spread  too 
heavily,  just  heavily  enough;  yet  even  Burke 


146  JKATTHEW  SORTER 

was  not  altogether  a  fool  and  he  did  not  trust 
Hinckley  entirely.  He  noticed  that  when  an 
issue  was  especially  important  and  a  man  espe 
cially  doubtful,  Hinckley  said,  "  I'll  see  him," 
not  "  you."  And  he  suspected  dimly  that  in 
discussing  committees  and  newspapers  Hinck 
ley  was  as  anxious  to  get  information  about 
Burke's  strength  as  to  give  it.  But  this  was 
all  vague.  The  dinner  had  been  good,  the 
wines  delicious.  At  the  moment,  Burke  did 
believe  himself  to  be  the  most  popular  Demo 
crat  in  Massachusetts;  and  if  this  was  true, 
what  possible  interest  could  Hinckley  have  to 
interfere  with  him?  So  he  smoked  and  sipped 
and  enjoyed  himself;  and  if  smoking  and  sip 
ping  and  enjoying  himself  could  have  fitted 
a  man  to  be  governor,  no  candidate,  from  North 
Adams  to  Provincetown,  could  have  had  a  better 
chance. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

VIOLA  had  found  her  visitor  interesting,  more 
interesting  when  she  thought  him  over  after 
wards  than  even  when  he  was  present.  His 
theories  of  politics  and  democracy  were  quite 
new  to  her  and  her  whole  nature  rebelled 
against  them.  She  did  not  want  to  believe  that 
the  people  were  competent  to  govern.  She 
wanted  the  governing  to  be  done  by  a  class  — 
a  heaven-sent  class  —  her  class.  Yet  when  she 
thought  of  the  heaven-sent  class  as  personified  in 
Dudley  Heath  and  set  Porter  over  against  him 
—  Well,  those  things  were  out  of  her  sphere. 
But  Porter  had  expressed  an  interest  in  her 
world  of  art  and  thought  and  beauty.  There  at 
any  rate  she  could  help  him.  And  she  felt  a  con 
siderable  curiosity  as  to  how  soon  he  would 
come  to  be  helped. 

The  curiosity  gave  place  to  marked  disap 
pointment  when  he  had  come  and  she  had 
missed  him.  This  was  on  a  Friday  when  he  had 
no  reason  to  expect  her  to  be  at  home.  He 
came  again  on  the  regular  Tuesday;  but  some 
sudden  necessity  kept  her  away  and  he  found 
only  Miss  Tucker  and  two  or  three  other  mem- 

147 


148  MATTHEW  PORTER 

bers  of  "  the  family."  Afterwards  Miss  Tucker 
sounded  his  praises  to  her  niece:  "  such  a  gen 
tlemanly  man  and  knew  the  Tuckers  in  Fox- 
bridge.  You  don't  feel  that  he's  making  fun 
of  you,  as  so  many  young  people  do  nowa 
days." 

Then  Viola  wrote  a  note  of  apology  for  her 
absence.  "  I  rarely  miss  more  than  one  or  two 
Tuesdays  in  the  year.  Come  again  soon  and 


see." 


On  the  next  Tuesday  every  one  was  full  of 
the  comic  opera.  Flitters  had  written  the 
libretto  in  a  week  after  the  subject  was  first 
mentioned.  McCarthy's  methods  were  less 
rapid,  but  the  score  was  completed  at  last  and 
Flitters's  universal  acquaintance  procured  the 
acceptance  of  the  piece,  with  the  promise  of  its 
production  at  the  end  of  the  season,  somewhere 
about  the  middle  of  May.  Now,  toward  the 
latter  part  of  March,  rehearsals  were  beginning, 
and  every  one  at  Viola's  had  heard  scraps  of 
the  music  and  the  text,  and  was  anxious  to 
hear  more. 

"  Just  a  hint  or  two,"  said  Flitters,  as  he 
seated  himself  at  the  piano.  "  Enough  to  give 
you  an  appetite,  not  enough  to  satisfiy  it. 
1  Mosquitos '  is  the  name,  as  you've  heard. 
Chorus,  dressed  as  mosquitos,  of  the  innumer 
able  sweethearts  of  a  gentleman,  who,  with 
lamentable  incapacity  for  profiting  by  experi 
ence,  has  got  engaged  to  one  in  every  place  he 
came  to  and  has  come  to  a  good  many  places. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  149 

Ravishing  the  mosquito  music  is,  simply  ravish 
ing,  as  light  and  graceful  as  the  buzz  and  mo 
tions  of  the  creatures  themselves.  You  wouldn't 
think  it  to  look  at  Eugene,  would  you?  I  know 
he  would  like  to  play  it;  but  I  will."  So  he 
did,  and  sang  a  verse  here  and  there,  as  light 
and  graceful  as  the  music.  Then  he  went  on 
and  gave  them  other  bits,  with  a  trailing  com 
ment  of  explanation.  "  The  last  wooing  of 
him  of  the  many  loves.  For  there  comes  a 
final  wooing  that  gets  him  into  trouble.  The 
pitcher  that  goes  too  often  to  the  well  —  you've 
heard  the  proverb.  Eugene  has  put  a  wonder 
ful  plaintiveness  into  it,  I  think  —  and  so  have 
I.  The  long-drawn  melancholy  sweetness  of 
the  utterance  of  a  man  who  is  in  the  irresistible 
grasp  of  fate,  the  most  fatal  fate  of  feminine 
witchery. 


1  Oh,  pitiful  young  man  struck  blind  with  beauty ! ' 
1  C'est  Venus  toute  entiere  a  sa  proie  attachee.' 


Who  wouldn't  drop  into  his  arms,  or  like  a  ripe 
cherry  into  his  mouth?  She,  the  inimitable,  final 
she,  the  fatal  she,  is  about  to,  when  —  but  I 
won't  spoil  my  climax.  Then  there's  the  polit 
ical  chorus.  We  must  have  that,  and  you  must 
all  sing  it.  Wait."  He  repeated  the  words  to 
them  and  played  the  music  two  or  three  times 
over.  They  halted  a  little  on  the  first  two 
verses;  but  by  the  third  they  got  fairly  going 
and  made  the  chandeliers  ring,  Wingate  with 


150  MATTHEW  SORTER 

his  solid  bass,  McCarthy  with  his  baritone,  Flora 
with  her  glorious  soprano,  and  the  others  as 
they  could. 

"  They  filled  their  pockets  with  clean  bank-notes, 
They  stuffed  their  breeches,  they  stuffed  their  coats, 
Oh,  gee,  but  they  went  after  votes  ! 

Hurrah  for  Billy,  the  guv'nor. 
They  grafted  him  on  to  the  green  Bay  State 
With  all  the  rest  of  their  lovely  slate ; 
And  then  they  sat  down  by  the  corpse  to  wait. 
Hurrah  for  Billy,  the  guv'nor." 

Just  as  the  thunder  of  this  delectable  verse 
began,  Porter  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  room. 
Busy  as  they  all  were  with  their  music,  no  one 
but  Flitters  saw  him,  and  Flitters,  appreciating 
the  situation,  put  redoubled  vim  and  vigor  into 
his  own  performance  and  that  of  the  others. 
Then,  stopping  short  and  rising,  he  cried, 
"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  behold  the  man  him 
self."  At  which  the  rest  of  the  company,  be 
coming  aware  of  the  audience,  burst  into  min 
gled  laughter  and  cheers. 

"You  see,"  said  Flitters,  stepping  forward; 
and  he  met  Porter's  undisguised  astonishment 
with  such  explanations  as  were  necessary. 
"  You  can't  sing,  of  course ;  or  won't,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  too  dignified  —  such  a  lamentable, 
useless  thing  this  dignity.  The  rest  of  us  will 
go  on  enjoying  ourselves,  while  you  are  wish 
ing  you  knew  how." 

Porter  accepted  the  invitation  and  felt  that 
he  was  enjoying  himself  very  much,  exchanging 


MATTHEW  SORTER  151 

a  few  words  with  his  hostess,  and  watching  the 
tumult  of  gaiety  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room. 

First  Flitters  went  on  with  his  extracts  from 
the  opera,  the  others  listening,  applauding,  and 
joining  in  when  they  could.  Wingate  was 
standing  by  Ruth  and  she  seemed  kinder  to  him 
than  usual,  giving  her  eager  interest  to  all  he 
said,  her  round,  childish  face  breaking  now  and 
again  into  its  wonderfully  dimpled  smile.  Win- 
gate  felt  the  influence  and  became  animated  in 
his  turn,  so  that  Porter  could  not  help  noticing 
it. 

"  Wingate  seems  — "  he  began.  Then  he 
stopped. 

*  Yes,"  said  Viola,  with  a  half -smile,  which 
did  not  last,  "  he  does  seem  —  I  am  sorry." 

Porter  soon  perceived  why  she  was  sorry. 

"  Well,"  said  Flitters,  "  I  could  keep  it  up 
for  ever;  but  I  know  Eugene  is  dying  for  his 
turn.  I  can't  understand  why  he  hasn't  taken 
it  away  from  me  before.  Go  on,  old  man, 
charm  the  ladies.  I  can't  do  anything  but 
amuse  them." 

Without  a  word  of  comment  or  apology. 
McCarthy,  casting  just  the  briefest  glance  at 
Ruth  and  Wingate,  took  up  his  violin  and  be 
gan.  And  even  those  who  had  heard  him  many 
times  before,  said  they  had  never  heard  him 
play  as  he  did  then.  To  be  sure,  his  technique 
may  not  have  been  that  of  an  older  and  more 
highly  trained  musician;  but  he  was  playing 


152  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

his  own  music  and  putting  all  himself  into  it, 
not  the  common  self,  the  self  which  had  had  no 
breeding,  no  education,  did  not  know  how  to 
walk,  or  sit,  or  stand,  or  speak;  but  the  in 
stinctive,  higher,  eternal  self,  which  thought 
nothing,  heard  nothing,  cared  for  nothing  but 
music,  which  dreamed  music  all  day  and  re- 
dreamed  it  all  night,  and  had  but  one  passion, 
one  ambition,  to  speak  in  music  for  ever  to  the 
whole  listening  or  unlistening  world.  It  was  a 
sort  of  fantasia  that  he  played,  a  summing  up 
of  the  music  of  his  opera;  now  weird,  wistful, 
plaintive,  pathetic;  now  swift,  gay,  glittering 
and  sparkling  with  infectious  laughter;  now 
witchlike,  fairylike,  full  of  strange  intervals 
and  shifting  rhythms,  as  the  dance  of  motes  in 
sunlight  or  of  fays  in  the  melancholy  glimmer 
of  the  waning  moon. 

When  he  stopped,  his  audience  was  too  much 
overcome  even  to  applaud  and  Flitters  spoke 
for  them  all,  crying  out,  "  Oh,  Eugene,  Eugene, 
you  don't  look  it.  If  you  did,  you  would  look 
like  Apollo  and  Orpheus  and  Saint  Cecilia  — 
not  Raphael's  —  all  rolled  into  one.  And  you 
don't,  you  know." 

But  the  most  obvious  tribute  of  admiration 
was  unquestionably  Ruth's.  The  minute  Mc 
Carthy  began  to  play,  her  eyes,  her  whole  soul 
through  her  eyes,  were  fixed  on  him  and  con 
tinued  fixed  until  the  end.  The  expression  of 
her  face  followed  the  expression  of  the  music, 
saddened,  drooped,  when  the  music  saddened, 


MCATTHEW  PORTER  153 

and  when  the  air  was  gay,  lightened,  laughed, 
danced,  as  if  all  the  forest  elves  were  dancing 
in  her  heart.  Not  a  whisper,  not  a  look,  did 
she  give  to  Wingate  during  the  whole  per 
formance,  any  more  than  if  a  stranger  were 
beside  her  or  no  man  at  all. 

And  Porter,  noticing  this  after  Viola's  re 
mark,  although  he  also  was  sufficiently  ab 
sorbed  and  astonished  by  the  music,  could  not 
but  see  what  it  meant.  "  About  Wingate,"  he 
said  to  his  companion  later,  "  I  am  sorry,  too." 

Then  they  all  had  supper  as  gaily  and  as 
abundantly  as  usual,  and  McCarthy  subsided 
into  the  commonest  of  common  mortals.  His 
attitude  towards  Ruth  was  exceedingly  curious. 
It  seemed  that  in  his  mere  manly  capacity  he 
felt  as  if  she  were  above  him,  out  of  his  world 
altogether,  although  his  art  world  might  be 
equally  above  her.  He  was  certainly  not  atten 
tive  to  her  in  the  ordinary  sense;  yet  the  atten 
tions  —  never  for  a  moment  unmaidenly  - 
which  her  exuberant  admiration  lavished  upon 
him  were  accepted  as  the  dry  earth  accepts 
a  shower. 

And  Wingate  felt  himself  to  be  ridiculous, 
as  a  man  of  forty  does  feel  himself  in  such 
circumstances  —  much  more  so  than  he  actually 
is.  To  escape  the  feeling,  when  they  went 
down-stairs  again,  he  sought  out  Porter,  while 
the  others  entered  into  a  new  game,  of  Flit- 
ters's  invention,  an  ingenious  modification  of 
capping  verses,  in  which  Flora  and  Laura 


154  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

shone,  while  Constance  floundered  hopelessly 
and  had  always  the  bewildered  air  of  a  person 
who  has  hurried  to  catch  a  train  and  lost  it. 

"  A  little  young  for  us,  perhaps,"  Wingate 
suggested. 

"  Well,  no,  I  hope  not,"  answered  Porter 
contentedly.  "  I  don't  like  to  think  I'm  too 
old  for  anything.  But  a  little  too  clever  —  for 
me.  My  wits  never  work  well  on  that  sort  of 
thing." 

'Your  wits?  They're  all  right  —  and  more. 
Porter,"  went  on  the  journalist,  after  a  pause, 
"I've  got  to  the  point  where  I  want  to  have 
a  talk  with  you." 

"  Talk  away,"  was  the  smiling  reply. 

"  Just  so.  I've  followed  your  ideas  for  a 
good  while  —  your  ideas  and  you  —  I've  heard 
about  Smith  and  Rooney  —  and  I  believe  you're 
on  the  track  of  a  big  thing." 

"  Well,"  agreed  Porter,  with  his  usual  frank 
ness,  "  I  believe  so,  too.  But  you  never  can 
tell." 

"No;  but  I've  thought  it  over  a  good  deal 
and  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  the  Intelli 
gencer  will  back  you." 

"Wingate!"  exclaimed  the  other.  This  was 
more  than  he  had  hoped  for  —  as  yet. 

"  Of  course,  you  know  what  I  mean.  We're 
an  independent  paper  and  we  can't  run  a  cam 
paign,  tie  ourselves  body  and  soul  to  it,  after 
the  fashion  of  some  of  our  esteemed  contem 
poraries.  But  we'll  back  you  as  strongly  as  we 


MATTHEW  SORTER  155 

ever  backed  any  one  —  give  you  a  good  word 
whenever  we  can." 

"  I  understand  all  about  it,"  Porter  answered. 
"  I  hope  you  understand  what  it  means  to  me." 

"  I  needn't  tell  you,"  went  on  the  other, 
"  that  I'm  not  fully  posted  on  your  theories. 
It's  you  I  believe  in.  I  gather  that  you  want  to 
shake  up  the  legislature  and  put  it  into  its  place 
—  let  the  governor  do  the  governing." 

Porter  nodded. 

"  And  have  a  cabinet,  put  the  secretaries 
right  into  the  legislature,  as  in  England. 
Does  that  mean  that  the  initiative  of  all  legisla 
tion  should  come  from  them?  " 

"  No,  no,  I  shouldn't  tie  it  up  in  any  such  way 
as  that.  There  must  be  a  certain  amount  of 
private  legislation  always.  What  I  care  most 
about  is  free  and  open  legislative  discussion,  in 
which  the  executive,  as  representing  the  whole 
state,  should  have  a  leading  part.  To  that  end 
I  think  all  bills  of  general  importance  should  be 
at  least  approved  by  the  department  officers." 

Wingate  listened  thoughtfully.  Then  he 
brought  up  other  points,  on  all  of  which  Porter 
gave  a  ready  answer,  though  he  admitted  some 
times  that  it  was  not  a  final  one.  "  This  is 
theory  so  far,"  he  said.  "  Like  any  theory  that 
is  good  for  anything,  it  must  be  subject  to 
modification  in  practice.  Let  me  try  it  once. 
Only  let  me  try  it.  The  main  principle  is 
right.  The  details  will  take  care  of  themselves." 

"  You'll  take  care  of  them,"  agreed  Wingate 


156  MATTHEW  SORTER 

with  enthusiasm.  "  I  like  the  sound  of  the 
theory  and  should  be  glad  to  see  it  tried  any 
way.  But  I  like  the  sound  of  you  better  still. 
There's  a  ring  to  you.  And  now,"  went  on  the 
newspaper  man,  in  his  short,  sharp  fashion, 
"  about  money." 

"Money,"  repeated  Porter.  "Well,  of 
course,  money  is  a  difficulty;  but,  after  all,  it's 
very  early  yet  to  talk  seriously  about  a  cam 
paign.  I  suppose,  if  I'm  nominated,  the  state 
committee  will  see  to  money." 

"  That  depends,"  was  the  sage  comment. 
"  But  you  must  get  nominated  first.  It's  there 
that  the  fight's  coming.  I  understand  Hinck- 
ley  means  to  make  a  fight  of  it.  Money  will 
be  awfully  useful." 

"  Well,"  came  the  slightly  reluctant  answer, 
"  I  suppose  you'll  think  I'm  a  fool,  but  I'm 
putting  what  little  money  I  can  spare  into  it 
myself.  It  isn't  much.  Not  enough  to  do  any 
good,  I'm  afraid.  Smith  and  Joe  Warren  are 
acting  as  a  committee  for  me,  and  they  have 
charge  of  things." 

"  I  don't  think  you're  a  fool  except  in  one 
way  —  to  be  wasting  your  own  money  when 
you  might  get  all  you  want  from  other  people. 
Now  you  leave  this  end  of  it  to  me.  I  can't 
talk  nor  get  up  theories.  And  I  don't  meddle 
with  practical  politics.  I  can't  run  your  cam 
paign.  But  I  can  raise  money.  I'll  be  treas 
urer  of  your  committee,  if  you  like,  and  I'll 
see  that  you  have  enough." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  157 

At  this  point  the  approach  of  Viola  inter 
rupted  them.  "  I'll  drop  in  at  your  office  in 
a  few  days,  when  I've  looked  over  the  ground," 
Wingate  said. 

"  Really,"  answered  Porter,  "  I  hardly  know 
how  to  thank  you." 

"  Can't  you  gentlemen  give  some  assistance 
over  there?  "  Viola  asked. 

"  What  is  going  on?  "    inquired  Porter. 

"  Well,  I  believe  they  are  all  absorbed  in 
writing  and  drawing  advertisements  for  — 
Hanks's  very  useful  article  of  dress.  George 
professes  himself  to  be  at  a  loss,  says  the  reser 
voir  is  absolutely  exhausted,  although  I  believe, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  is  making  three  sugges 
tions  to  all  the  others'  one.  And  he  has  offered 
a  prize  for  the  design  which  shall  be  at  once, 
as  he  says,  most  decorous  and  most  decora 
tive." 

"  And  the  prize  is  — ?  "    Porter  asked. 

"  A  pair  of  the  very  useful  articles  in  ques 
tion." 

"  Just  what  I  need,"  laughed  Wingate,  seiz 
ing  the  excuse  to  slip  in  beside  Ruth,  who,  at 
the  moment,  had  got  separated  from  McCar 
thy  and  was  looking  eagerly  over  Laura's 
shoulder. 

But  Porter  remained  where  he  was  and 
Viola  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  think  we  have  a  good  deal 
of  foolish  laughter  here,"  she  said. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  like  it.     I  should  like. 


158  MATTHEW  SORTER 

to  laugh  myself  —  at  a  great  many  things  — 
but  I  don't  quite  know  how." 

"Yes,"  she  agreed.  "It's  odd.  One  has 
that  sense  of  the  immense  absurdity  of  things 

—  not  so  much  a  bitter,   satirical,   as  a  really 
humorous  sense  —  of  the  trifling  unimportance 
of  all  the  great,  serious  things  that  men  strug 
gle  and  fight  for.     One  has  it  quite  as  much  as 
George,  perhaps.     But  one  doesn't  laugh  as  he 
does.    A  feeling,  a  wholly  false  feeling  of  one's 
own  dignity  interferes  —  do  you  think?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I've  never  learned  to  laugh 

—  never  lived  with  people  who  laughed.     It's 
quite  strange  to  me;  —  alters  the  face  of  the 
world,  in  fact.     I  don't  think  the  Puritans  ever 
laughed." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  they  did.  They  left  all 
the  laughter  behind  them  —  over  in  Shake 
speare's  England.  And  though  we  aren't  Puri 
tans  —  it  is  so  hard  to  shake  off  the  inherit 


ance." 


"  I  don't  want  to  shake  it  off,"  he  said. 
"  Only  to  add  something  more  to  it,  something 
different." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  can't  be  done,  I'm 
afraid.  Can  the  sunny  temperament  which 
enjoys  and  the  iron  temperament  which  accom 
plishes  be  yoked  together? " 

Flitters  had  been  watching  this  serious  con 
ference  for  some  moments.  Now  he  came  over 
and  interrupted  it.  "  What  are  you  talking 


MATTHEW  SORTER  159 

about?  "  he  asked,  in  his  odd,  abrupt,  yet  gen 
tle  manner. 

"  Laughter,"  was  Viola's  brief  answer. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  Who  would  have  thought  it? 
Don't.  You  aren't  fit  to.  You,  Viola,  you've 
lived  in  the  shadow  of  the  rose  of  joy  all  your 
life  and  you've  never  caught  a  grain  of  the 
fragrance.  You  surround  yourself  with  laugh 
ter;  but  you  walk  through  it  like  a  ghost  at 
a  banquet,  chilling  every  one  you  touch.  You 
were  born  serious  and  I  really  believe  you  pass 
hours  in  serious  reflection  on  the  possibilities 
of  life  —  which  will  never  be  anything  but  pos 
sibilities —  or  impossibilities  —  for  you.  Can't 
you  take  the  actual  for  what  it  is?  And  he  — 
that  Porter  —  he's  a  statesman.  To  be  a  states 
man  you  must  be  without  a  sense  of  humour. 
You  speak  of  Lincoln  and  Csesar  perhaps? 
But  they  were  the  exceptions.  Your  Burleighs, 
your  Cromwells,  your  Richelieus,  your  Wash- 
ingtons,  your  Pitts,  your  Websters,  —  witty  oc 
casionally,  but  they  took  themselves  and  their 
place  in  the  world  with  such  ponderous  serious 
ness,  as  this  man  does.  You  discuss  laughter! 
Separate,  I  beg  of  you,  if  you  want  the  rest 
of  us  to  enjoy  ourselves.  Porter,  go  talk  to 
Flora.  She  won't  discuss  laughter  with  you; 
but  she'll  laugh  at  you.  I'll  talk  to  Viola." 

Porter  smiled  and  did  as  he  was  told.  Most 
people  did  with  Flitters.  Somehow  what  he 
wanted  seemed  to  be  the  thing  you  wanted 
yourself. 


160  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

As  he  walked  home  later,  in  the  fresh  March 
wind,  Porter  tried  to  adjust  himself  to  these 
new  elements  of  life.  It  was  strange  to  laugh 
at  everything,  even  at  the  august  common 
wealth  of  Massachusetts  —  strange,  but  with 
a  certain  sweet  savour.  Yet  the  commonwealth 
was  there  all  the  same,  calling  him,  as  it  seemed. 
And  Wingate's  offer  was  certainly  very  en 
couraging,  more  so,  perhaps,  than  anything  that 
had  yet  occurred. 


CHAPTER   XV 

"  WELL,  Dudley,  you're  very  late  about  com 
ing  to  be  congratulated,"  said  Viola  to  her 
cousin,  as  he  entered  her  music-room  one  Sun 
day  evening.  She  had  been  reading  a  solid  book 
on  government,  something  not  unusual  with  her 
of  late;  but  she  put  it  down  quietly  in  such 
a  way  that  her  visitor  hardly  noticed  it. 

"  Congratulated? "  he  echoed  in  pretended 
bewilderment.  "  Oh,  yes,  that  little  matter. 
You  congratulated  me  long  ago.  Have  you 
forgotten?  " 

"No;  but  that  was  only  a  moment  at  the 
Woodrows'  —  not  formal.  You've  drawn  quite 
a  prize.  I  know  Miss  Ferguson." 

"  Yes,  she  told  me  about  your  call.  I  wish 
I'd  been  there." 

"  We  got  on  very  well  without  you.  Your 
fiancee  is  able  to  hold  her  own." 

"  Just  so  —  and  a  lot  of  other  people's,  too. 
I  know  you  look  down  on  her,  Viola.  But  then 
you  look  down  on  me  as  well.  She  and  I  under 
stand  each  other." 

*  That's  fortunate,"  answered  Viola,  with  in 
finite  gravity.  "  I  should  imagine  you  were 
wonderfully  adapted  to  each  other.  And  it 
may  be  that  marriage  will  sober  you,  Dudley." 

161 


162  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Sober  me?  Let  us  pray  that  it  may  exhil 
arate  me.  I  am  one  mass  of  dull,  sodden 
soberness  already.  I  look  for  exhilaration  from 
morning  to  night;  but  I  can't  find  any.  As 
for  the  adaptation,  I  should  have  been  so  much 
more  adapted  to  you,  Viola." 

This  sudden  declaration  did  not  in  the  least 
disturb  the  object  of  it.  "  I  hope  your  future 
bride  understands  your  astonishing  frankness 
as  well  as  your  other  good  qualities." 

"  And  more  than  imitates  it,  I  do  assure  you. 
Her  father,  who  is  thoroughly  middle-class,  cul 
tivates  conventional  mendacity;  but  she  speaks 
right  out,  unless,  of  course,  lying  is  an  object. 
Probably  you've  observed  that  brutal  frankness 
is  one  of  the  distinguishing  marks  of  the  upper 
class?" 

"  In  which  it  resembles  the  lower,"  was  the 
mild  suggestion. 

"  Exactly  —  as  against  the  hideous  hypoc 
risy  of  the  middle.  In  its  fight  with  the  middle 
class  the  aristocracy  turns  naturally  to  the  mob, 
expecting,  of  course,  to  trample  on  it  after 
wards." 

"  Well,"  Viola  answered,  "  in  this  country 
one  has  a  haunting  feeling  that  one  may  belong 
to  the  middle-class  one's  self;  and  I  dislike  it 
as  much  as  you  do." 

"  There  never  was  more  of  a  thorough  born 
and  bred  aristocrat  than  you  are,"  was  the  re 
assuring  comment.  "  Now  Porter,  on  the 
other  hand  — ."  He  paused  a  moment  to 


MATTHEW  SORTER  163 

watch  the  effect  of  the  name;  for  of  course 
that  was  what  he  had  come  for,  at  Wood's 
instigation,  after  keeping  away  all  winter  to 
allow  their  scheme  a  chance  to  work.  But 
there  was  no  visible  effect  whatever,  and  he 
went  on.  "  Porter  is  middle-class  all  through, 
his  ambitions,  his  ideals,  —  fancy !  —  his  morals, 
and  his  person.  That's  the  only  real  satisfac 
tion  that  I  have  derived  from  my  engagement 
so  far  —  the  comfort  of  having  beaten  him." 

"  And  you  expect  to  go  on  beating  him?  " 
she  asked  with  perfect  apparent  indifference. 

He  looked  at  her  carefully  before  he  an 
swered.  Was  she  indifferent?  Was  she  iron 
ical?  He  could  not  tell.  "  I  don't  know,"  he 
said.  "  You  don't  think  success  in  love  a  bad 
omen?  But  then  there's  so  little  love  about  it. 
Yes,  of  course,  I  expect  to  beat  him." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  doubt  very  much  whether 
you  do  beat  him." 

Still  the  same  vague,  uncaring  tone.  It  irri 
tated  him.  What  did  she  mean?  Had  Porter 
interested  her,  bored  her,  exasperated  her?  He 
must  make  a  bold  push  to  find  out. 

*  Look  here,  Viola,"  he  began,  his  manner 
decidedly  more  serious  than  it  had  been  hitherto, 
"  You  remember  our  talk  several  months  ago?  " 

If  she  did,  she  made  no  sign,  just  kept  her 
dark  eyes  fixed  on  him,  without  a  smile. 

"  Of  course  you  do.  And  Porter's  been  here 
often,  as  I  know.  Now,  what  do  you  make  of 
him?  " 


164  MATTHEW  SORTER 

He  put  the  question  short  and  sharp,  as  if  to 
force  an  answer  from  her  suddenly;  but  the 
answer  was  neither  sudden,  nor  slow,  nor 
doubtful,  nor  embarrassed.  "  I  like  him,"  she 
said. 

"  Like  him!  Lord,  what  a  woman's  answer. 
Can  it  be  that  you  are  a  woman,  Viola? " 

"  I  have  never  seen  any  reason  to  suspect  it. 
Did  you  wish  me  to  dislike  him? " 

"  What  has  liking  to  do  with  the  matter  any 
way?  I  wanted  you  to  work  on  him,  to  use 
your  great  eyes,  and  your  slow,  seductive, 
haughty  ways,  and  your  money,  to  wean  him 
from  his  nonsense  and  make  a  good,  common 
place,  useful  man  of  him.  Can't  you  do  it? 
Have  you  failed?  " 

"  My  slow,  seductive,  haughty  ways,  and  my 
money,"  she  repeated,  not  in  the  least  angry, 
but  as  impenetrable  as  ever.  "  I'm  not  sure 
that  I  care  for  the  role" 

But  he  was  beginning  to  be  angry,  or  pre 
tended  to  be.  "  Why  couldn't  you  find  that  out 
before?  It  wasn't  for  me,  you  know,  that  you 
were  doing  it.  It  was  for  your  country,  pa 
triotism,  the  Roman  matron  act.  There's  a 
great  deal  of  the  Roman  matron  about  you." 

"  You  think  so?  "  she  answered,  not  varying 
a  grain  from  her  non-committal  tone. 

Heath  showed  his  vexation  by  getting  up  and 
taking  a  double  turn  through  the  room.  Then 
he  sat  down  again  and  put  his  feelings  into 
words.  "  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  possible. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  165 

I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  possible.  That  you, 
acute,  keen-sighted,  cynical,  with  your  finger  on 
the  central  knot  of  human  motives,  of  human 
selfishness,  should  have  been  duped  by  the  shal 
low  reveries,  the  tall  talk  of  such  a  cheap  dema 
gogue  as  Mat  Porter!  Perhaps  you  believe  in 
his  famous  nostrums,  his  universal  panaceas  for 
making  a  heaven  on  earth  and  getting  rid  of 
all  us  grafters  and  old,  corrupt,  rascally  poli 
ticians.  Perhaps  you  believe  he's  going  to  be 
governor,  and  wish  him  to  be,  and  are  anxious 
to  be  enrolled  yourself  in  the  glorious  army  of 
middle-class  reformers.  Oh,  Viola,  my  cousin! 
I  am  disappointed  in  you." 

She  heard  him  out  with  perfect  patience  and 
a  serene  smile.  She  did  not  even  hasten  about 
her  answer.  "  Oh,  Dudley,  my  cousin,  you 
overheat  yourself.  I  have  not  enlisted  as  lieu 
tenant  in  Mr.  Porter's  Quixotic  campaign  to 
make  over  the  world.  I  dislike  the  middle-class, 
with  their  stupid,  narrow  conventions  and  hypo 
critical  prejudices,  as  I've  told  you.  But  I  like 
Mr.  Porter.  I'm  sorry  you  object  to  the 
phrase." 

"  Like  him,"  repeated  Heath,  with  scorn  re 
newed  and  redoubled.  Then  he  asked,  again 
sharp  and  sudden,  "  Does  he  like  you?  " 

But  Viola  was  unmoved  as  ever.  "  Hadn't 
you  better  ask  him?"  she  said.  "And  now, 
Dudley,  if  you  don't  mind,  suppose  we  talk  of 
something  else.  Not  that  I  have  any  objection 
to  talking  of  Mr.  Porter.  Only  I  think  we've 


166  MATTHEW  SORTER 

exhausted    the    subject.      He    isn't    important 
enough.     Do  tell  me  what  your  wedding  plans 


are." 


Heath's  only  great  quality,  the  one  that  had 
pushed  him  up  in  the  world,  was  his  power  of 
controlling  himself;  so  he  talked  about  his  wed 
ding  plans  for  half  an  hour  and  then  took  his 
leave. 

Tuesday  morning  he  found  Wood  in  his  of 
fice. 

"  I've  seen  Viola,"  Heath  began  shortly. 

"  Well? " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it's  well  or  not.  It 
was  always  your  scheme,  you  know.  I  never 
believed  in  it  much." 

"  You  never  believe  in  anything  much.  It's 
your  weakness." 

"  And  my  strength." 

"  I  don't  think  you'll  find  it  so,"  Wood  re 
marked.  "  However,  that's  not  business. 
Doesn't  she  take  to  him?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  she  does." 

"  Well,  that's  what  we  want,  isn't  it?  Does 
he  take  to  her? " 

"  I  asked  her  and  she  told  me  to  ask  him." 

"Ah?  Sharp,  isn't  she?  Does  he  go  there 
much,  do  you  know?  " 

"  So,  so  —  from  all  I  hear,"  Heath  answered, 
with  indifference.  Then  he  added  more  ener 
getically:  "  It's  a  fool  scheme,  I  always  said 
it  was.  It's  running  too  much  risk.  She's  too 
deep  for  me.  It  wouldn't  surprise  me  a  bit  if 


MATTHEW  SORTER  167 

she  were  to  fall  in  love  with  him  and  marry 
him." 

"  I  thought,  from  what  you  said,  she  was 
sharp,"  Wood  objected. 

"  She  is  sharp  —  in  her  way;  but  so  is  he  — 
damned  sharp." 

"  Well,"  Wood  went  on.  "  That's  all  right. 
You  remember,  when  we  first  talked  of  this 
thing,  I  said  I  didn't  care  if  she  did  marry  him. 
If  she  does,  he  won't  count  any  more.  I'll  work 
it  so  he  won't  count  any  more." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  you  can." 

"  Wait  and  see,  my  boy.  Meantime,  we've 
got  other  fish  to  fry.  It  seems  early  to  begin; 
but  it's  none  too  early.  Porter's  at  it  lively 
enough  —  Smith  fixed,  Rooney  fixed.  I  can 
understand  Smith.  But  Rooney  must  have 
meant  a  good  job  of  handling.  He's  got 
Hinckley  dead  against  him,  though,  and 
Hinckley's  worth  all  the  rest." 

"  Burke? "  was  Heath's  monosyllabic  in 
quiry. 

And  the  monosyllabic  answer,  "Burke!" 
covered  that  branch  of  the  subject. 

'  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 
inquired  the  Republican  candidate. 

Wood  was  thoughtful  for  a  few  moments 
and  chewed  the  end  of  his  cigar.  "  Of  course, 
we  can't  do  anything  very  active.  On  our  side 
you're  all  right.  Nobody  doubts  that.  As  to 
the  Democrats,  keep  close  watch  and  lend  a 
hand  where  we  can.  Burke  is  the  man  for  us. 


168  MATTHEW  SORTER 

If  Hinckley  sticks  to  him  —  and  Hinckley 
knows  as  well  as  we  do  that  Burke  can  never 
be  elected,  it's  only  to  down  Porter  —  why, 
Burke  stands  a  fair  chance  for  the  nomination 
and  it's  up  to  us  to  do  Burke  a  good  turn  in 
a  quiet  way.  The  papers,  Dudley,  the  papers, 

—  it's  all  in  the  papers  just  now.     And  say, 

—  "he  went  on,  after  a  little  more  meditative 
chewing  —  "  you    would    be    just    the    man    to 
write  a  good  story  about  your  own  good  quali 
ties,  wouldn't  you?" 

"  I  should  say  so,"  was  the  hearty  reply. 

"  That's  it.  Anybody  else  would  be  likely  to 
miss  some  of  them.  Well,  write  it  and  I'll  have 
it  printed  —  just  to  keep  things  moving.  Want 
to  write  one  about  Porter,  too? " 

"  Rather! " 

"  Do  it.  And  praise  him.  Say  that  it's  for 
tunate  the  Democrats  have  taken  a  turn  at  last 
and  got  a  man  who  might  almost  be  a  Repub 
lican.  Point  out  that  he's  old  New  England 
stock,  conservative,  has  no  sympathy  with  ex 
treme  labour  or  radical  ideas,  inclines  more 
every  day  socially  to  the  better  sort  and  is  a 
thorough  gentleman.  Of  course  a  man  of  that 
stamp  can't  be  elected,  because  he's  only  a  kind 
of  imitation  Republican,  but  it's  a  credit  to  the 
state  to  have  him  for  a  candidate.  Strange, 
though,  that  the  Democrats  should  have  sense 
enough  to  put  him  up.  Then  sign  it  '  Old  Re 
publican.'  See?" 

"  I  see.    Why  not  sign  it  '  Old  Fox  '?  " 


MATTHEW  SORTER  169 

Wood  paid  no  attention  to  the  compliment. 
"  Then  we'll  have  one  or  two  letters  written  to 
rub  it  in  along  the  same  lines:  just  a  gentle 
hint  now,  you  know,  about  his  getting  thick  with 
your  cousin  and  her  crowd.  Well  work  it 
harder  later,  when  it  will  do  more  good." 

"  Want  me  to  write  'em  all?  "  inquired  the 
nephew  with  sympathy  and  appreciation. 

"  Why  not?  I  haven't  got  any  one  who  can 
do  it  better.  And  it  may  keep  you  out  of 
mischief  for  awhile." 

"But  my  senatorial  duties?"  Heath  ob 
jected. 

"  Those  are  mischief,  aren't  they? " 

"  That  sounds  more  like  me  than  you,"  said 
the  other,  rising.  "  But  it's  the  busiest  men 
that  do  the  most  work.  And  I'll  write  you 
such  a  set  of  stories  as  you  never  read  before." 

So  saying,  he  took  his  leave,  and  as  he  walked 
up  to  the  State  House,  he  thought  of  the  stories 
and  of  several  other  things. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

HEATH'S  visit,  his  open  cynicism,  his  cool 
selfishness,  left  Viola  more  appreciative  than 
ever  of  Porter's  charm,  of  his  earnest,  simple, 
manly  enthusiasm.  True,  she  had  told  Heath 
that  she  liked  the  man  and  not  his  ideas. 
Hitherto  it  had  certainly  been  so.  Heath  was 
right  when  he  said  there  never  was  a  more 
thorough  aristocrat  bred  and  born  than  Viola 
Buckingham.  She  had  all  the  instincts  of  her 
race  and  of  her  class.  She  was  ready  to  pat 
ronize  her  inferiors,  ready  to  help  them,  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  for  them  —  provided  it 
was  always  understood  that  they  were  her  in 
feriors.  Such  had  been  her  training,  such  had 
been  her  inheritance  from  both  sides  of  her  fam 
ily  for  generations  back.  Nothing  in  her  sur 
roundings  had  ever  interfered  with  these  in 
stincts  or  modified  them.  Yet  she  was  thor 
oughly  just,  thoroughly  noble.  Her  mind 
reached  far  and  pierced  deep.  The  tone  and 
temper  of  a  man  like  Heath  disgusted  and 
revolted  her.  If  aristocratic  ideas  and  princi 
ples  produced  such  men  as  that,  perhaps  aristo 
cratic  ideas  and  principles  were  wrong,  or  not 
wholly  right.  If  democratic  ideas  produced 

170 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  171 

such  men  as  Porter,  they  might  at  least  be 
worth  looking  into.  His  ideas  would  be  worth 
looking  into,  at  any  rate,  and  she  would  look 
into  them,  when  the  proper  opportunity  should 
offer. 

On  the  Tuesday  evening  after  her  interview 
with  Heath,  Porter  appeared  for  a  little  while. 
There  was  not  much  chance  for  discussing  ideas. 
The  surroundings  were  unfavourable.  But  he 
talked  to  her  and  Wingate  and  Flitters  about 
the  progress  of  the  campaign. 

"  Such  dirty  tools  as  you  have  to  handle,"  ob 
jected  Wingate.  "  That's  the  pretty,  one  of 
the  pretty  parts,  of  politics." 

'  Yes,"  said  Viola.  "  I  don't  see  how  you  or 
any  sensitive  person  can  stand  it." 

Porter  laughed.  "I'm  afraid  I'm  not  sensi 
tive  —  it  must  be  that  I'm  not.  For  I  don't 
mind  the  dirty  tools,  as  you  call  them,  in  the 
least.  They  interest  me,  they  amuse  me.  I 
have  a  real  personal  fondness  for  the  dirtiest 
of  them.  They're  all  human,  the  dirtiest  often 
times  the  most  so;  really  much  more  human 
than  half  my  instructors  in  college  used  to  be, 
for  instance," 

"Good,  Porter!"  cried  Flitters,  much  ap 
proving.  "  I  believe,  if  you  weren't  so  abom 
inably  earnest,  you  might  have  a  genuine  sense 
of  humour,  after  all." 

But  Wingate  stuck  to  his  point.  "  Hinckley, 
you  find  him  charmingly  human?  " 

Still  Porter  laughed.    "  I've  no  doubt  Hinck- 


172  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ley's  particularly  human.  But  he's  no  tool  of 
mine.  I  wish  he  were.  He's  digging  as  hard 
as  he  can  against  me  all  the  time  with  the  point 
and  both  edges." 

"  Well,  Rooney,  then.  I  know  you've  got 
him  —  by  his  humanity,  I  suppose." 

'  Why,  yes,  I  think  we  might  say  very  much 
by  his  humanity." 

"And  Smith  — but  Smith's  different.  I 
know  him  and  like  him." 

"  So  you  ought,"  answered  Porter  warmly. 
"  Smith  is  different;  not  more  human  than  the 
others,  but  a  sharper  tool,  certainly  —  as  bright 
as  steel  and  as  reliable.  He's  my  right-hand 
man,  Smith,  frank,  straightforward,  energetic. 
Of  course  he's  only  a  mechanic  and  can't  quote 
the  classics;  but  he  has  all  of  the  gentleman 
that's  worth  having." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Viola, 
in  her  tranquil  way.  She  was  thinking  how 
different  Porter's  description  of  his  friends  was 
from  Heath's.  "Could  I?" 

"  You,  Viola?  "  interposed  Flitters.  "  Don't 
you  know  your  limits  yet?  " 

"  He's  not  your  sort,  Viola,  exactly,"  Win- 
gate  agreed. 

But  Viola,  still  tranquil,  repeated  her  ques 
tion  to  Porter,  "  Could  I?  " 

Porter  hesitated.    "  Why,  of  course  —  " 

"  I  don't  mean  in  a  crowd  like  this.  But 
couldn't  you  bring  him  quietly  some  evening? 
He'd  be  glad  to  talk  about  you,  I've  no  doubt. 


tKCATTHEW  SORTER  173 

Probably  you  think,  as  George  does,  that  I 
don't  know  my  limits.  I  do.  That's  why  I  am 
anxious  to  get  outside  of  them." 

"  You'll  find  a  territory  so  vast  that  you'll 
be  lost  in  it,"  murmured  Flitters  the  irrepressi 
ble. 

But  Viola  took  no  notice,  simply  waited,  with 
out  speaking,  for  Porter's  answer. 

It  came,  as  quiet  as  her  speech  had  been. 
"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  doubt  whether  he  will 
come.  As  I  said,  after  all,  he's  only  a  mechanic. 
He  has  taken  up,  with  natural  aptitude,  the 
essentials  of  a  gentleman;  but  he  hasn't  the 
habit  of  drawing-rooms.  I  should  have  to  tell 
him  frankly  that  he  is  invited  to  satisfy  a  lady's 
curiosity.  Probably  he  won't  care  to  do  it. 
He  will  suspect  it  means  being  made  fun  of." 

"  You  know  it  wouldn't  mean  that,"  Viola 
said. 

And  Flitters:  "  You  surely  do,  Porter.  You 
know  Viola  by  this  time  well  enough  to  appre 
ciate  that  she  may  be  the  occasion  of  the  laugh 
ter  which  is  in  others,  but  she  never  laughs 
herself." 

"Tell  him,"  Viola  went  on,  "that  I  am  a 
woman"  —  ever  so  slight  a  stress  on  woman 
—  "  who  has  lived  in  a  narrow  world  and  wants 
to  see  something  of  a  larger  one.  And  tell  him, 
especially,  that  I  am  a  woman  who  is  beginning 
to  believe  in  you  and  would  like  to  see  him 
because  he  believes  in  you." 

"  To   get   some   support   for   your   wavering 


174  MATTHEW  SORTER 

confidence?  "  asked  Porter,  with  a  smile.  "  I'll 
tell  him." 

"  Exactly?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"And  you'll  bring  him?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  answered,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation.  '  Under  the  circumstances  I  think 
I  may  say  I'll  bring  him." 

And  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  ten  days  he 
did  so.  Smith  had  refused  absolutely  at  first. 
But  Porter  pleaded. 

"What  does  she  want  to  see  me.  for? "  an 
swered  the  Labourite.  "  Just  to  laugh  at  me. 
I'm  not  the  man  for  parlours  and  fine  furniture. 
She's  a  swell  and  a  snob.  You  can  talk  to  that 
sort  of  people,  because  you  can  talk  to  any 
body;  though,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Por 
ter  —  "  he  stopped  short. 

"Tell  the  truth,  by  all  means,"  said  his 
leader,  smiling.  "  It's  your  strong  point  — 
yours  and  mine." 

"  Not  when  it's  none  of  my  business,"  was  the 
abrupt  reply. 

"  But  this  is  your  business.  You  were  going 
to  say  that  —  the  less  I  have  to  do  with  swells 
and  snobs,  the  better,  weren't  you?  " 

Smith  spoke  up,  square  and  frank  as  usual: 
"  Well,  I  was.  You  can  damn  me,  if  you  like." 

"  I  sha'n't  damn  you.  Indeed,  I'm  much  of 
your  opinion.  I  don't  think  the  smart  set  and 
I  should  get  on  very  well.  But  this  —  Miss 
Buckingham  seems  to  be  altogether  different. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  175 

She's  rich,  I  suppose,  and  she  has  some  loafers 
about  her.  But  she  strikes  me  as  a  noble,  ear 
nest  woman  who  wants  to  make  her  life  bigger." 

"  Handsome?  "  asked  Smith,  not  so  much  in 
solently  as  curiously. 

Porter  stopped  to  consider.  "  Handsome? 
Why,  yes,  she  is.  But  you'd  never  think  about 
that."  Then  he  quoted  to  Smith  the  exact 
words  in  which  Viola  had  framed  her  invitation 
and  ended  by  saying:  "If  you'll  go,  I  shall 
take  it  as  a  personal  favour." 

"  Oh,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  I  go,  of  course. 
What  do  I  care  anyway?  Don't  suppose  I'm 
afraid  of  her." 

Viola  had  been  notified  beforehand  and  had 
arranged  to  have  no  one  with  her  but  Miss 
Tucker,  thinking  it  would  be  easier  so  for  all 
concerned.  When  the  guests  arrived,  Porter 
devoted  himself  to  Miss  Tucker,  who  was  al 
ways  ready  with  new  questions  about  the  Tuck 
ers  of  Foxbridge,  and  Viola  and  Smith  quickly 
began  an  animated  conversation. 

"  I  take  it  as  very  good  of  you  to  come  here, 
Mr.  Smith,"  Viola  said. 

"  I'm  glad  to  come,  if  you  want  to  see  me." 
On  the  whole,  his  manner  was  successful  —  just 
a  shade  of  assertion  in  it,  perhaps,  the  least  sug 
gestion  of  "  You  think  I'm  not  at  home;  but 
I'm  at  home  anywhere,"  yet  hardly  more  than 
became  a  proper,  manly  independence.  And 
Viola's  ease,  her  grave  beauty  as  she  sat  oppo 
site  him,  all  in  quiet  black  and  white,  had  their 


176  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

natural  effect  and  soon  made  him  as  easy  as  she 
was. 

"  I  do  want  to  see  you,"  repeated  the  hostess, 
"  and  I'll  tell  you  why.  I've  always  lived  — 
well,  I  won't  call  it  an  idle  life,  there's  been 
some  profit  in  it,  I  think;  but  idle  you  would 
call  it  certainly.  And  I've  always  regarded 
politics  as  rather  —  rather  —  " 

"  Dirty?  "    Smith  suggested. 

"  Well,  yes,  we'll  say  dirty.  Since  I've 
known  Mr.  Porter,  I've  come  to  think  that, 
dirty  or  not,  perhaps  one  ought  to  learn  some 
thing  about  them.  And  Mr.  Porter  says 
you  —  " 

"  Says  I  know  something  about  'em,  dirt  and 
all? " 

"  He  didn't  put  it  in  any  such  way  as  that. 
But  he  gave  me  to  understand  that  you  were 
a  thoroughly  honest,  high-minded  man,  who  de 
voted  your  life  to  politics  and  took  very  radical 
views  of  things." 

Smith  laughed.  "  Say,  I'd  better  have  kept 
away  after  he'd  said  all  that  about  me,  hadn't 
I? " 

Viola  laughed  in  sympathy.  "  I  have  no 
doubt  you'll  live  up  to  your  reputation.  And 
you  are  a  radical,  I  suppose?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know  much 
about  such  big  words  and  theories.  I  leave  that 
to  Mr.  Porter.  I  just  know  there's  lots  of 
things  wrong  in  this  state  and  I'd  like  to  see 
some  of  'em  come  out  right,  before  I  die." 


MATTHEW  PORTER  111 

"I  know  there  are  plenty  of  things  wrong; 
but  what  special  things  have  you  in  mind?  Do 
you  cherish  a  violent  hatred  for  all  capitalists?  " 

"  I  ain't  a  fool,"  was  the  brusque  reply.  "  I 
shouldn't  mind  being  a  capitalist  myself.  As 
long  as  there's  men  who  like  better  to  save  their 
money  than  to  spend  it,  there'll  always  be  some 
rich  and  others  poor.  And  it's  right.  What 
I  want  is  to  have  everybody  have  a  square  deal." 

"  And   you   don't  think   everybody   has   a  - 
square    deal  —  even    under    our    free    govern 
ment?  " 

The  labour  leader's  countenance  indicated  a 
civil  effort  to  suppress  contempt.  "  Not  ex 
actly,"  he  answered.  "  I  want  to  see  things 
fixed  so  that  the  capitalist  pays  his  taxes  like 
the  poor  man  instead  of  getting  off  for  two- 
thirds  of  his  property  scot  free.  I  want  to  see 
things  fixed  so  that  the  capitalist  can't  go  into 
the  legislature  and  buy  laws  that  will  rob  the 
people  to  fill  his  pocket.  When  we've  got  a 
few  of  those  little  things  attended  to,  everybody 
will  have  something  like  a  fairer  chance  any 
way." 

The  man's  tone  was  slightly  truculent;  but 
Viola  felt  that  he  was  honest  in  his  purposes 
and  she  enjoyed  listening  to  him.  For  half  an 
hour  she  kept  on  putting  questions  and  he  an 
swered  them  readily,  simply,  always  intelli 
gently,  though  it  was  evident  that  his  informa 
tion  was  limited  and  his  range  of  thought  nar 
row.  At  length,  when  he  had  given  her  an  ex- 


178  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

tensive  account  of  the  reforms  which  he  desired, 
she  asked :  "  And  do  you  feel  confident  that 
Mr.  Porter  will  be  able  and  willing  to  do  all 
this  or  help  to  do  it? " 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  looking  at  her 
keenly.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I  know  well  enough 
Mr.  Porter  and  me  don't  agree  on  everything. 
It  may  come  round,  after  he's  elected,  that  I'll 
have  to  stand  up  and  fight  him.  But  it'll  be 
a  square  fight,  because  he's  a  square  man.  And 
that's  why  I'm  for  him  every  time.  I  believe 
he's  got  a  good  idea.  It  sounds  well  anyhow 
and  I'd  like  to  have  him  have  a  chance  to  try  it. 
But  he's  worth  a  good  deal  more  than  any  idea. 
If  you'd  knocked  round  as  much  as  I  have  in 
politics,  you'd  know  a  man,  when  you  sawr  him. 
And  Porter's  a  man.  It  ain't  only  that  he's 
got  nerve.  It  ain't  only  that  he's  clean  and 
straight.  I  saw  that  first  and  that  was  enough 
for  me.  But  now  I  know  he  can  talk  to  men 
and  handle  'em.  When  a  man  can  do  that  and 
is  straight,  too,  he's  my  man  every  time." 

But  here  Porter  joined  them  and  interrupted. 
"  It  seems  to  me  I  heard  my  name,"  he  said 
smiling. 

"  What  if  you  did?  "  Smith  answered.  "You 
didn't  hear  anything  that  could  hurt  your  feel 
ings,  I  guess."  Then  he  continued  his  talk  to 
Viola,  while  Porter  sat  down  and  listened,  with 
much  amusement.  "  Yes,  Porter's  the  man  for 
me  and  I  believe  he's  the  man  for  the  party  and 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  179 

the  state.  But  there's  got  to  be  some  tall  fight 
ing  done.  Did  you  see  those  two  editorials  in 
the  Mercury,  one  about  Porter  and  the  other 
about  Heath?" 

"  I  believe  Mr.  Heath  is  Miss  Buckingham's 
cousin,"  Porter  interposed. 

"  That  so?  "  Smith  inquired,  his  tone  imply 
ing  no  congratulations. 

Viola  assented.  "  But  don't  mind  that,"  she 
said. 

"I  won't,"  Smith  replied.  "He's  a  smart 
man  enough,  and  knows  all  the  tricks  of  poli 
tics,  and  he's  got  Wood  behind  him.  Is  he  your 
cousin,  too? " 

"  No,"  answered  Viola.  And  she  straightened 
up  ever  so  little  as  she  said  it. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,  because  he's  a  rascal." 

"And  the  editorials?"  inquired  the  lady  of 
the  house. 

"  You  haven't  seen  'em,  then?  You'd  better. 
One  cracked  up  Heath  sky  high.  Well,  that's 
all  right  enough.  And  the  other  hit  Porter  in 
the  back,  said  he  was  just  the  sort  of  man  the 
Republicans  would  be  likely  to  choose,  conserv 
ative,  respectable,  in  with  the  swells,  and  a  lot 
more  —  said  it  was  queer  the  Democrats  should 
think  of  such  a  man  anyway.  Everything's 
fair  enough  in  politics,  I  suppose;  but  that's 
sharp  work.  I'll  bet  a  good  deal  Wood  or 
Heath  wrote  it  himself  —  both  of  'em." 

"  I  can't  think  Mr.  Heath  would  do  such  a 


180  MATTHEW  SORTER 

thing,"  protested  Viola,  for  form's  sake,  though 
in  her  inmost  heart  she  thought  he  might  very 
well. 

"  Of  course,  he's  your  cousin,"  replied  Smith 
apologetically. 

"  At  any  rate,  you  can't  let  such  insinuations 
go,"  urged  the  new  convert.  All  the  immense 
spirit  of  fight  in  her  was  roused  by  this  under 
handed  method  of  attack. 

Porter  laughed.  "  Such  vile  insinuations  as 
that  I  am  a  gentleman?  " 

But  Smith  was  on  his  hostess's  side.  "  That's 
what  I  say.  Give  'em  as  good  as  they  send. 
Put  it  right  back  to  'em." 

Porter  was  graver  as  he  answered.  "  Very 
well.  Why  don't  you  write  a  reply  and  set  me 
straight?  " 

"  Can't,"  said  Smith.     "  I'm  no  writer." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  do  it  myself?  I  don't 
care  for  that  way  of  going  to  work,  writing 
such  things  without  a  signature.  Later  on  I 
may  decide  to  use  the  papers  and  come  right 
out  with  all  I  have  to  say  —  not  as  to  this 
matter,  but  as  to  everything  —  over  my  own 
name.  I'd  rather  some  one  else  would  do  it, 
though;  that  is,  it  would  be  more  effective." 

"  Who  can?  "    asked  Smith. 

Viola  said  nothing,  seemed  almost  to  be 
thinking  of  other  things. 

"  As  to  these  editorials,"  Porter  went  on, 
"  Wingate  was  speaking  of  them  yesterday  and 


MATTHEW  SORTER  181 

said  he  should  take  some  notice  of  them  in  the 
Intelligencer" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  remarked  Smith,  with  scorn. 
"  The  Intelligencer! " 

But  Viola  still  said  nothing.  And  Porter, 
thinking  she  was  bored,  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

When  he  and  Smith  were  outside  together, 
Porter  asked,  "  Are  you  as  much  opposed  as 
ever  to  my  acquaintance  with  Miss  Bucking 
ham?  " 

"  She's  a  fine  woman,"  Smith  answered,  ener 
getically.  "  No  doubt  about  that.  And  I 
guess  she's  interested  in  our  side  all  right.  All 
the  same,  that  set  won't  help  you  much.  Look 
at  the  Mercury  editorial." 

"  I  sha'n't  choose  my  friends  to  please  the 
Republicans,"  answered  Porter,  with  a  certain 
haughtiness. 

"  That's  just  what  I'm  afraid  you  might  be 
doing.  All  the  same,  now  I've  seen  her,  I  don't 
know  as  I  blame  you." 


CHAPTER    XVII 

A  SHORT  time  after  Smith's  little  journey  into 
the  golden  world,  Porter  received  a  note  from 
Viola. 

"DEAR  MR.  PORTER:  I  enjoyed  your  polit 
ical  friend's  visit  exceedingly.  He  is  an  honest 
man,  and  he  set  me  thinking  more  than  I  have 
thought  for  a  good  many  years.  As  a  result, 
I  want  to  see  you  and  get  light.  It  seems 
wrong  to  ask  for  your  time.  Still  I  do  ask  for 
it.  Will  you  come  and  see  me  some  evening  — 
any  evening?  Only  telephone  and  let  me  know 
beforehand.  Sincerely  yours, 

"  VIOLA  BUCKINGHAM." 

Porter  went,  of  course. 

As  soon  as  he  was  seated,  Viola  began,  her 
eyes  very  serious  and  earnest:  "  Now,  Mr.  Por 
ter,  I  want  to  know  just  what  your  political 
ideas  are.  Can  I  understand  them?  " 

'  If  you  can't,  they  must  be  very  useless. 
Think  of  the  people  who  have  got  to  understand 
them." 

"  Then  tell  me  about  them.  I've  always 
despised  politics  because  I  thought  all  politicians 

182 


MATTHEW  SORTER  183 

were  dishonest.  Now  I've  seen  two  politicians 
who  are  honest  and  I  want  to  know  something 
about  politics." 

Porter  took  her  as  seriously  as  she  spoke. 
"  It  will  be  a  longish  lecture,  if  I'm  to  make 
it  clear,"  he  said.  "  I'll  be  as  brief  as  I  can. 
If  I  bore  you,  say  so." 

"  You  won't  bore  me."  She  settled  herself 
comfortably  in  her  chair  and  her  brows  slightly 
drawn  showed  her  all  interest  and  attention. 

"  My  story  opens  with  the  legislature,"  he 
began. 

"  Just  one  moment,"  she  said.  "  I  won't  in 
terrupt  very  often.  Could  you  tell  me  at  the 
start  why  you  are  a  Democrat?  It  seems  — ' 

He  completed  her  sentence :  "  It  seems  like 
beginning  deliberately  on  the  weaker  side,  I 
suppose;  and  then  it  seems  a  little  low." 

"  I  didn't  say  that,"  she  interrupted  again. 
"  Of  course  I  know  that  some  of  the  best  men 
in  Massachusetts  have  been  Democrats." 

"  But  the  rank  and  file  don't  please  you. 
However,  that  doesn't  count,  does  it?  In  the 
first  place,  the  Republicans  have  been  long  in 
power.  All  parties  in  power  are  conservative. 
They  want  to  keep  what  they've  got.  You  can't 
make  them  take  hold  of  new  ideas.  More  than 
that,  my  idea,  at  present,  requires  insistance  on 
the  state  governments.  It  is  just  as  applicable 
to  Federal  government  and  to  city;  but  the 
state  is  the  place  to  begin.  Now  the  Republi 
can  party  is  more  and  more  committed  to  Fed- 


184  MATTHEW  SORTER 

eralism.  National  issues,  national  power,  are 
its  whole  strength,  and  it  aims  more  and  more 
to  draw  all  local  questions  to  Washington.  The 
old,  fundamental,  Democratic  principle  has  al 
ways  been  state  independence.  In  the  early 
days  the  principle  was  too  strong  anyway.  I 
should  have  been  a  Republican  then.  Now  the 
danger  is  wholly  in  the  opposite  direction  — 
and  I  am  a  Democrat." 

Viola  nodded.  She  was  listening  eagerly  and 
Porter  could  not  help  noticing  the  thoughtful, 
earnest  beauty  of  her  face.  "  I  see,"  she  said. 
"  And  now  —  You  began  about  the  legisla 
ture." 

"  Just  so,"  he  resumed.  "  When  our  govern 
ment  —  state  and  Federal  —  was  made,  every 
body  was  in  fear,  first  of  all,  of  one  man  power 
and  the  tyranny  of  the  executive.  *  Separate 
the  executive  and  legislative  powers,'  was  the 
cry.  But  the  executive  and  the  legislative  can 
not  move  separately  on  parallel  lines.  Unless 
they  can  be  made  to  work  in  concert,  one  will 
infallibly  dominate.  Consequently  all  govern 
ing  was  left  practically  to  the  legislature.  What 
does  that  mean?  A  mob  of  two  or  three  hun 
dred  men  comes  together,  without  leadership, 
without  definite  plan  of  action,  each  jealous  of 
the  others,  each  bound  to  act  first  and  foremost 
for  his  constituents  and  to  see  that  their  interests 
do  not  suffer,  no  matter  what  happens  to 
others.  In  all  that  multitude  there  is  absolutely 
no  one  who  represents  the  state  as  a  whole,  no 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  185 

one  whose  sole  duty  it  is  to  see  that  a  proper 
balance  is  kept  between  all  these  jarring  inter 
ests  and  that  no  one  section  is  sacrificed  or  dis 
regarded  for  the  benefit  of  others.  Take  the 
most  elementary  point  of  all,  the  finances. 
Everybody  in  the  legislature  is  interested  to 
spend.  Nobody  to  save.  Every  member  has 
some  special  appropriation  to  get  through  for 
his  own  district.  So  long  as  that  goes,  he  does 
not  care  what  other  members  spend.  Nay,  if 
they  will  vote  for  his  measure,  he  will  vote  for 
theirs.  Doesn't  it  seem  the  first  suggestion  of 
common  sense  that  there  should  be  some  vigi 
lant,  authoritative  officer  at  the  head  of  the 
whole  department  of  finance,  who  should  be 
present  at  the  legislative  debates,  should  con 
sider  and  formulate  the  claims  of  conflicting  in 
terests,  should  adjust  them  in  suitable  propor 
tion  to  means  of  supply,  and  then  submit  the 
whole  in  a  systematic  budget  for  public  discus 
sion,  criticism,  and  the  approval  of  the  entire 
legislative  body  in  open  session?  Am  I  clear?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  Viola  agreed.  "  It  seems 
strange  that  any  one  should  ever  have  at 
tempted  to  do  business  in  any  other  way." 

"  It  would  seem  strange,  if  we  did  not  under 
stand  exactly  how  the  system  arose  and  did  not 
know  that  mankind  go  on  doing  as  their  fathers 
did,  no  matter  how  strange  the  inconsistencies 
or  how  obviously  absurd." 

"  And  it  is  here  that  your  reform  comes  in?  " 
asked  the  patient  listener,  showing  the  intensity 


186  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

of  her  interest  in  the  fixity  of  her  attitude  and 
of  her  eyes. 

"  Not  in  the  finances  alone.  In  everything 
I  want  the  governor  to  govern.  Let  him  choose 
his  own  executive  subordinates,  cabinet,  secre 
taries,  whatever  you  like  to  call  them,  let  them 
be  each  at  the  head  of  his  own  department,  and 
let  the  power  and  the  responsibility  of  govern 
ment  be  upon  them,  not  upon  a  disorderly, 
chaotic  mob." 

"  But,"  objected  Viola,  "  you  spoke  of  one 
man  power  just  now.  After  all,  isn't  this  rather 
near  it?  Perhaps  you  will  think  me  too  igno 
rant  to  make  objections." 

"  If  you  don't,  how  should  we  ever  under 
stand  each  other? "  Porter  answered  gently. 
And  what  impressed  Viola  all  through  the  in 
terview  was  his  gentleness.  Although  he  was 
talking  of  the  deepest  interests  of  his  life  and 
his  manner  showed  it,  yet  there  was  no  raising 
of  the  voice,  no  vehemence,  no  gesticulation. 
He  was  always  instantly  ready  to  wait  for  her 
objections,  patient  in  listening  to  them,  clear 
in  explaining  his  point  of  view. 

"  People  do  not  understand,"  he  went  on, 
"  that  the  only  way  you  can  get  anything  done 
in  this  world  is  by  one  man  power.  One  man 
power  is  the  greatest  agency  known  to  human 
ity.  Only,  like  steam,  or  electricity,  or  any 
other  natural  force,  it  must  be  controlled.  What 
is  the  true  means  of  controlling  it?  Responsi 
bility.  Put  your  governor  at  the  head  of  your 


MATTHEW  SORTER  187 

government.  Then  elect  your  legislature  to 
watch  him.  Let  him,  or  his  representatives, 
appear  before  it.  Let  every  measure  be  ex 
plained  and  elucidated  by  public  debate,  so  that 
the  people  may  see  and  know  at  every  moment 
what  is  being  done.  You  can  give  any  amount 
of  power,  so  that  you  couple  it  with  an  equal 
public  responsibility.  The  dread  of  one  man 
power  has  always  driven  men  to  the  other  ex 
treme  of  legislative  government,  and  what  has 
it  ended  in  —  logically?  In  the  despotism  of 
Csesar,  the  despotism  of  the  Medici,  the  despot 
ism  of  Cromwell,  the  despotism  of  Napoleon. 
What  has  it  ended  in  in  this  country?  Govern 
ment  by  committees  and  commissions,  three  men 
power,  five  men  power,  a  dozen  men  power, 
that  is  to  say,  generally  one  man  power,  and  all 
in  the  dark,  with  no  responsibility  whatever. 
What  is  bossism,  an  irresponsible  despotism, 
if  ever  there  was  one,  but  the  result  of  the  rabid 
fear  of  one  man  power,  that  fear  naturally  em 
bodying  itself  in  the  chaos  of  legislative  govern 
ment?  Power  and  open  public  responsibility 
combined  —  that  is  what  I  am  working  for." 

At  this  point  Viola  stopped  him  again.  The 
quickness  and  clearness  of  her  comments  made 
him  feel  how  perfectly  she  was  following  him. 
"'  Wouldn't  this  be  a  very  radical  change  — 
almost  revolutionary?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  answered,  "  not  at  all.  In  the 
Federal  government,  if  we  were  dealing  with 
that,  it  would  not  require  even  a  constitutional 


188  MATTHEW  SORTER 

amendment  —  simply  an  act  of  Congress.  One 
of  our  strongest  arguments  is  that  the  matter 
was  brought  before  the  Senate  a  number  of 
years  ago  in  the  Pendleton  bill,  and  the  com 
mittee  to  which  it  was  referred  —  half  Demo 
crats  and  half  Republicans  —  reported  unani 
mously  in  favour  of  it.  On  this  account  it 
might  seem  easier  to  begin  at  Washington;  but 
the  national  government  is  too  big,  too  far  away 
from  the  people.  State  affairs  are  simpler, 
easier  to  handle;  yet  at  the  same  time  they 
enter  far  more  immediately  into  every  man's 
daily  life.  For  this  reason  the  state  govern 
ments  need  to  be  emphasized,  to  be  brought  into 
public  view,  far  more  than  they  are.  And  for 
myself,  if  there  is  really  to  be  a,  great  reform, 
I  want  to  see  Massachusetts  take  the  lead  in 
it." 

"  But  in  Massachusetts  there  would  have  to 
be  a  constitutional  change?  "  she  asked  again. 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  comparatively  simple.  The 
first  and  main  thing  would  be  to  get  rid  of  the 
governor's  council,  a  little  legislature,  neither 
useful  nor  ornamental,  hanging  about  the  neck 
of  the  executive  and  strangling  him,  like  the  old 
man  of  the  sea.  Here  again  I  am  not  pre 
sumptuously  urging  my  own  opinion.  Two  of 
the  wisest  and  most  practical  governors  Massa 
chusetts  ever  had,  Long,  a  Republican,  and 
Russell,  a  Democrat,  urged  the  abolition  of  the 
council  a  number  of  years  ago." 

He  paused  and  Viola,  too,  was  silent  think- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  189 

ing.  This  was  a  new  world  to  her  and  full  of 
perplexing  and  also  exciting  possibilities. 

"  The  governor,"  she  began  at  length, 
"  doesn't  he  have  a  good  deal  to  do  already? 
At  least  the  papers  seem  to  be  full  of  his 
speeches  and  goings  on." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  sends  messages  to  the  legisla 
ture,  to  which  the  legislature,  in  most  cases, 
pays  as  much  attention  as  if  they  came  from 
you  or  me.  And  if  he  is  really  interested  in 
the  public  good,  he  works  hard  with  the  other 
lobbyists  to  get  his  measures  in  by  the  back 
door.  And  he  makes  speeches  at  dedications 
and  dinners.  He  might  do  a  good  deal  less  of 
that  sort  of  thing  and  let  some  one  else  do  that 
less  for  him  —  the  lieutenant-governor,  for  in 
stance.  The  people  would  quickly  forgive  him, 
if  they  knew  his  time  was  being  spent  more 
usefully.  Besides,  he  would  have  his  cabinet 
secretaries  to  attend  to  details  and  would  him 
self  only  shape  and  engineer  the  general  policy. 
The  Prime  Minister  in  England  certainly  does 
quite  as  much  public  speaking  as  is  necessary." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Viola,  "I  thought  of  that 
before.  I  know  so  little  about  these  things. 
Still  one  has  read  Trollope's  novels.  Isn't  your 
idea  a  good  deal  like  the  English?  Will  not 
some  people  object  to  it  on  that  account?  " 

"  I  don't  deny  the  resemblance  or  that  Mr. 
Marston  first  took  the  idea  from  the  English 
system.  But  conditions  here  are  so  different 
that  it  would  work  out  very  differently.  Be- 


190  MATTHEW  SORTER 

sides,  is  there  any  one  so  foolish  as  to  be  unwill 
ing  to  take  a  good  idea,  even  from  those  he  may 
not  like?" 

Viola  smiled.  "  I  have  been  brought  up  to 
think  that  your  friends  the  people  are  foolish." 
Then  she  went  on  more  seriously:  "  But  in 
England,  as  I  understand  it,  everything  de 
pends  on  a  Parliamentary  majority.  How 
would  you  manage  that?  The  governor  couldn't 
very  well  go  out,  could  he?  " 

"  He  might,  if  it  were  necessary,  change  his 
secretaries;  but  that  isn't  my  idea  of  it.  I 
believe  that  our  system  is  better  than  the  Eng 
lish  just  because  of  its  stability.  Suppose  the 
governor  and  his  cabinet  initiate  a  piece  of 
legislation  and  find  a  majority  of  the  legisla 
ture  dead  against  them.  They  push  the  matter 
as  far  as  they  can,  debate  it  thoroughly,  get 
the  public  mind  full  of  it,  make  it  perfectly 
clear  whether  the  opposition  is  merely  factious 
or  represents  a  general  popular  feeling.  Then 
if  they  are  voted  down,  they  must  withdraw 
their  measure  and  content  themselves  with 
routine  business  for  the  remainder  of  the  ses 
sion.  But  in  the  meantime  the  issue  is  brought 
squarely  and  clearly  before  the  people,  and  after 
plenty  of  leisure  for  careful  consideration,  the 
next  election  settles  it.  That  is  the  way  I  feel 
that  it  will  work;  but  of  course  it  is  an  experi 
ment;  an  experiment  with  almost  all  the 
chances  in  favour  of  success,  but  still  undenia 
bly  an  experiment.  Yet,  oh,  Miss  Bucking- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  191 

ham  "  —  and  now  she  felt  that  he  dropped  his 
cooler,  argumentative  tone  and  gave  freer  way 
to  the  enthusiasm  that  was  in  him.  His  clear 
gray  eye  opened  wider,  his  head  straightened. 
"  Oh,  Miss  Buckingham,  what  an  experiment! 
You  see  the  root,  the  secret  of  the  whole  thing, 
is  that  it  develops  leaders,  brings  forward  man 
hood  and  gives  it  a  chance.  Our  present  sys 
tem  of  doing  everything  in  dark  committee- 
rooms  and  lobbies  evolves  two  sorts  of  men: 
the  cunning,  clever,  intriguing,  unprincipled 
wire-puller  who  has  the  real  power;  and  the 
amiable,  sweet-spoken,  empty  dummy  who 
comes  to  the  front,  wears  the  frock  coat,  and 
does  as  he  is  told.  Every  one  complains  that 
good  men  don't  go  into  politics.  Why  don't 
they  go  into  politics?  Because  of  a  system 
which  sets  a  premium  on  rascality  and  makes  it 
next  to  impossible  to  be  successful  and  honest 
both.  Responsibility  is  so  divided  that  the  good 
strong  man  must  share  all  his  glory  with  the 
weak  and  wicked  and  shoulder  the  blame  of  all 
their  follies  and  all  their  crimes.  My  plan,  if 
it  works,  will  first  of  all  make  such  an  opening 
for  men  that  the  ablest  men  in  the  country  will 
find  their  place  in  politics  instead  of  in  Wall 
Street.  The  thousands  of  rich  young  fellows 
who  are  dissipating  their  time  for  want  of  a 
suitable  object  in  life,  will  have  a  career  that 
is  worthy  of  them.  There  will  be  a  chance  not 
only  in  the  government,  in  the  administration, 
but  just  as  much  in  the  opposition,  where  the 


192  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

keenest  and  most  active  minds  in  the  state  will 
be  gathered  together  to  watch  and  criticize 
every  step  that  the  executive  takes  and  to  do 
battle  in  the  legislative  arena  for  a  chance  to 
take  office  and  frame  measures  in  their  turn.  It 
sounds  worth  trying,  doesn't  it? " 

Viola  had  listened  with  an  ardour  answering 
his  own,  carried  away  as  much  by  his  passionate 
energy  as  by  the  power  of  his  ideas.  These 
appealed  to  her  immensely,  yet  something  of 
the  old  scepticism  was  not  all  uprooted  yet. 
"  It  has  a  glorious,  trumpet  sound,  as  you  put 
it,"  she  said.  "  But  forgive  me  my  old  habits 
of  thought,  these  leaders  won't  be  demagogues, 
will  they,  won't  cater  to  the  lowest  popular 
passions  for  their  own  ends?  " 

His  answer  showed  no  irritation  and  no  vio 
lence.  "  Ah,  there  is  the  point,"  he  said.  "  Who 
can  tell?  It  all  depends  on  how  much  you 
believe  in  the  people,  in  their  good  disposition 
and  their  intelligence.  That  they  want  honest 
government  who  can  question?  Why  should 
the  mass  of  them  want  anything  else?  That 
they  should  understand  all  the  technical  merits 
of  abstract  political  problems  is  absurd  to  ex 
pect.  The  one  real  question  is,  can  they,  in  the 
long  run,  judge  the  character  of  men?  I  be 
lieve,  with  Lincoln,  that  they  can.  At  any 
rate,  the  plan  which  I  propose,  which  will  bring 
men  to  the  front  instead  of  smothering  them, 
is  the  only  thing  that  offers  for  salvation.  Cor 
ruption  on  the  one  hand,  despotic  centralization 


MATTHEW  SORTER  193 

on  the  other,  threaten  between  them  to  strangle 
popular  government  in  this  country.  The  wis 
est  observers  tend  to  agree  on  that  and  tend 
also  to  agree  in  general  that  popular  govern 
ment  is  a  failure.  I  believe  that  it  has  never 
yet  had  a  chance,  and  that  as  long  as  the  legis 
lature  is  allowed  full  swing,  it  never  will  have 
a  chance.  Let  the  executive  govern,  with  com 
plete  responsibility  to  a  watchful  legislature  de 
bating  openly  Defore  the  public,  and  I  believe 
that  the  people  and  popular  government  will 
justify  themselves.  Now  you  see  what  I  am 
aiming  at." 

She  looked  at  him  with  thought  and  wonder 
and  sympathy  in  her  eyes  and  it  was  long  before 
she  spoke.  "  To  go  into  politics  in  that  way 
means  something,"  she  said  at  last.  "  Such  an 
idea  is  worth  the  ambition  of  a  life." 

"  I  am  ambitious,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  don't 
deny  it.  I  want  fame,  I  want  power,  I  want 
success.  I  like  all  these  things.  Who  doesn't? 
At  the  same  time,  if  I  know  myself,  I  wouldn't 
go  near  politics,  as  they  are  to-day,  simply  for 
these  things,  unless  I  had  some  higher  idea 
that  would  make  it  worth  while.  If  I  am 
right,  if  my  theories  are  what  I  think  they  are, 
what  other  wise  men,  Marston,  for  instance, 
have  thought  they  are,  success  means  the 
governorship,  it  means  making  Massachusetts 
the  leading  state  of  the  Union,  it  means  a 
reform  the  consequences  of  which  may  be  felt 
for  generations.  You  think  I  brag.  I  don't 


194  MATTHEW  SORTER 

say  I  can  do  this.  It  is  all  in  the  'if.'  I  may 
be  a  wild  crank,  you  know,  like  so  many  others." 

"  You  are  no  crank,  certainly,"  she  answered, 
with  all  her  quiet  earnestness.  "  I  can't  tell 
you  how  much  you  have  interested  me,  Mr. 
Porter.  You  have  opened  a  new  world.  Of 
course  it  is  new,  and  I  am  of  a  sceptical  dis 
position.  You  will  understand  that.  I  want 
to  work  it  out  by  myself  and  read  a  great  deal 
and  ask  a  great  many  more  questions.  I  want 
to  make  myself  mistress  of  the  whole  subject. 
Why  can't  I?" 

"  Most  assuredly  you  can,"  said  Porter,  de 
lighted. 

"And  books?"   she  asked. 

Then  he  gave  her  a  list  of  what  writings 
there  were  with  a  bearing  on  the  subject. 
"  But  it's  all  in  '  Power  and  Responsibility,' 
by  my  friend  Marston's  father,"  he  said.  "  He 
thought  it  all  out  and  developed  it,  only  he 
was  no  politician  to  put  it  into  practice. 
'  Power  and  Responsibility '  is  the  Bible  of  the 
whole  matter.  Study  that  thoroughly  and  you 
will  know  as  much  as  I." 

So  he  took  his  leave  and  she  let  him  go,  with 
renewed  thanks;  for  she  wanted  to  think  over 
all  she  had  heard. 

Porter  did  some  thinking,  too.  It  was  odd 
that  a  woman  —  and  of  all  women  this  woman 
—  should  wake  up  to  the  bare,  abstract  idea 
with  an  interest  which  hardly  any  one  had  ever 
shown  before.  Margaret  —  she  was  clear- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  195 

headed  enough,  doubtless,  could  have  under 
stood,  if  she  had  wished;  but  she  had  never 
wished,  had  always  treated  the  whole  thing  with 
indifference  and  contempt. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

MEANWHILE  work  was  going  steadily  on  — 
for  Porter  and  against  him.  Everywhere  his 
personal  popularity  increased.  He  made  many 
friends  and  few  enemies.  Smith  was  as  loyal 
as  ever  and  as  energetic  as  ever.  Rooney  con 
tinued  faithful,  not  wholly  from  self-interest. 
And  his  devotion  was  much  strengthened  by 
one  or  two  talks  with  Maloney,  the  chief  of 
the  Boston  Democracy. 

"  Porter's  a  big  man,  I  guess,"  said  Rooney. 

"  Oh,  he's  all  right,"  Maloney  answered. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  his  follower  apolo 
getically,  "  he's  got  to  talk  for  clean  politics. 
That's  his  long  suit." 

"  Let  him  talk.  If  his  talk  is  straight,  then 
he's  the  kind  of  calf  that  needs  more  rope. 
Give  him  enough  and  he'll  hang  himself.  If 
he  sets  out  to  clean  up  the  state-house,  he'll 
be  too  busy  to  meddle  with  us.  Besides,  he 
ain't  elected  yet.  Anyway,  he's  against  Hinck- 
ley.  That's  all  I  want.  Any  old  knife  is  good 
enough  for  me  to  stick  into  Hinckley." 

Hinckley  was  against  Porter.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  that.  The  chairman  of  the  state 
committee  can  pull  a  good  many  wires  and  he 

196 


MATTHEW  SORTER  197 

was  pulling  them.  Burke  was  no  great  help 
to  him,  however.  Burke  was  unwilling  to  play 
false,  yet  he  was  anxious  to  win.  He  hummed 
and  hawed  over  the  means.  But  Hinckley  had 
only  to  dangle  the  end  seductively  before  his 
victim's  nose  and  he  would  follow  his  leader 
into  almost  anything.  The  process  had  to  be 
repeated  so  often,  however,  that  even  the  patient 
Hinckley  cursed  inwardly  and  was  daily  on  the 
lookout  for  some  more  promising  candidate. 
And  Burke,  dull  as  he  was,  could  not  help  sus 
pecting  this  at  times. 

"I'd  like  to  get  Burke,"  said  Smith  fre 
quently  to  Porter.  "  As  I've  said  before,  he 
wouldn't  be  much  good  to  us,  but  he's  some 
harm  against  us.  I'd  like  to  get  him  or  put 
him  out." 

"  Put  him  out?  "  repeated  Rooney,  who  hap 
pened  to  be  listening  on  one  of  these  occasions. 

Porter's  henchman  Warren  was  still  busy, 
doing  detective  work  and  all  other  kinds  of 
work  that  might  be  useful,  and  he  and  Rooney 
found  each  other  exceedingly  congenial.  Rooney 
took  the  first  occasion  to  pass  on  Smith's  re 
mark. 

"  Put  Burke  out? "  repeated  Warren 
thoughtfully  in  his  turn.  "  Well,  now,  I 
think  that  might  be  done." 

So  together  the  two  practical  politicians 
worked  up  a  little  scheme  which  struck  them  as 
extremely  ingenious.  It  happened  that  in 
Burke's  earlier,  good-natured,  amorous  Irish 


198  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

career,  not  so  very  long  after  his  marriage,  there 
had  been  one  of  those  scandals  which  respectable 
Boston  can  least  tolerate.  It  had  been  hushed 
up  at  the  time  and  now  was  so  completely 
forgotten  that  nothing  less  than  Warren's  in 
defatigable  researches  would  ever  have  suc 
ceeded  in  reviving  it. 

"  I  guess  that's  about  the  thing,"  he  said,  as 
he  communicated  it  to  his  confederate. 

"  Say,"  answered  Rooney,  "  that'll  put  him 
out  all  right,  but  will  Porter  stand  for  it?  " 

"  Stand  for  nothing.  Not  much.  I  won't 
ask  him." 

"But  afterwards?" 

"Afterwards?  What's  that  got  to  do  with 
it?  Afterwards  don't  count." 

"  All  the  same,  he'll  talk  some." 

Warren  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Oh,  yes, 
he'll  talk.  He's  got  to.  It's  all  in  the  game." 

The  next  thing  was  to  concoct  a  newspaper 
story  that  would  be  effective  and  yet  safe.  But 
Warren  understood  the  art  and  knew  others  who 
understood  it  better.  All  that  was  necessary 
was  a  very  formal  and  very  dignified  editorial 
discussing  the  difficulty  of  finding  a  candidate 
who  should  be  perfect  in  every  respect.  For 
instance,  you  might  have  a  man  —  of  straw  in 
this  case  —  who  should  be  of  an  old  and  re 
spected  family,  looked  up  to  and  honoured 
everywhere  in  the  community;  but  he  might 
be  distant,  unconciliating,  people  would  mis 
trust  him  and  hold  back  from  him  simply  on 


MATTHEW  SORTER  199 

account  of  his  haughty  manner.  And  one  or 
two  purely  imaginary  instances  of  snub  would 
give  this  fictitious  individual  all  necessary  con- 
creteness.  Another  —  Porter,  of  course,  would 
be  understood  —  might  have  tact,  magnetism, 
personal  charm,  might  be  in  himself  all  that 
would  gather  votes  by  the  basketful;  but  he 
might  have  ideas,  and  as  is  well  known,  there 
is  always  a  class  of  Democrats  and  Republicans 
both,  to  whom  ideas  in  politics  are  as  poison 
ous  as  lobster  and  milk.  Again,  there  might 
be  a  third  who  should  have  no  ideas  and  no 
high-class  manners,  a  jolly  good  fellow  whom 
everybody  liked  to  crack  a  joke  and  take  a 
drink  with;  but  such  a  man  was  sure  to  have 
something  in  his  past  that  could  be  raked  up 
against  him.  Suppose,  etc.,  etc. 

A  good  sermon  on  this  text  would  do,  thought 
Warren,  and  so  thought  the  obliging  editor  of 
the  Argus ;  whose  one  object  in  life,  for  reasons 
best  known  to  himself,  was  to  get  a  slap  at 
Hinckley. 

"  Safe,  I  think?"    said  Warren. 

"  Safe  enough,"  said  the  editor.  "  What 
could  Burke  do  that  would  not  make  matters 
a  great  deal  worse?  Safe  to  queer  him,  too,  I 
should  say.  But  will  Porter  like  it? " 

"  He'll  let  on  he  doesn't  like  it.  But  just 
keep  it  dark.  When  Burke's  out  of  the  way, 
Porter'll  feel  better  all  the  same.  Every  word's 
true,  you  know." 

So  the   Sunday  edition  of  that  lurid  sheet, 


200  MATTHEW  SORTER 

the  Argus,  was  to  be  enlivened  with  a  lot  of 
well-seasoned  scandal,  and  Warren  found  him 
self  exceedingly  contented. 

Saturday  afternoon,  however,  Smith  came 
into  Porter's  office.  "  Say,  what's  this  about 
Burke? " 

"Burke?"    asked  the  chief.     "What  is  it?" 

"  Rooney  was  full  last  night  —  or  lively  at 
any  rate  —  and  he  told  a  man  who  told  me  that 
the  Argus  was  going  to  put  a  bomb  under 
Burke  to-morrow  that  would  blow  him  clear  out 
of  the  state." 

"  The  Argus?  "  repeated  Porter  in  disgust. 
"  What  has  the  Argus  to  do  with  it  anyway? " 

"  Search  me,"  answered  the  leader  of  labour. 

Porter  stepped  to  the  telephone  and  tried  to 
get  Rooney.  No  Rooney  to  be  found.  Then 
Warren,  with  equal  unsuccess. 

He  took  up  his  hat.  "I'm  off  for  the 
Argus"  he  said.  '  This  will  bear  looking 
into." 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better  have  left  it  alone,"  Smith 
suggested. 

"  Hardly.  When  I  want  the  Argus  to  run 
my  campaign,  I'll  let  them  know  it." 

The  announcement  of  Porter's  name  was  not 
received  by  the  editor  with  cheerfulness.  Says 
the  Chinese  proverb,  "  There  are  thirty-five 
resources  in  a  difficulty;  but  the  best  is  to  run 
away."  The  editor  would  have  liked  to  run 
away;  but  he  couldn't.  So  he  ordered  his  vis 
itor  shown  in. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  201 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  Porter. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Porter,"  said  the  edi 
tor.  He  was  a  suave  little  man  and  though  he 
was  miserably  unequal  to  the  occasion,  he  tried 
hard  not  to  appear  so. 

"  I  have  been  told,  probably  incorrectly  —  " 
Porter  went  on,  "  that  you  were  to  print  an 
article  about  Mr.  Burke.  All  things  considered, 
I  think  I  am  justified  in  asking  to  see  it." 

The  editor  got  up  on  his  dignity,  although 
even  then  he  seemed  much  shorter  than  his  inter 
locutor.  "  Really,  Mr.  Porter,  it  is  a  little  odd, 
you  know." 

"  I  can't  help  that.  Do  you  refuse  to  let  me 
see  it?" 

"  Hm!  Ha!  Professional  secrecy  —  "  but  the 
smile  that  went  with  the  joke  was  watery. 

"  Because,  if  you  do,"  Porter  continued,  with 
out  any  smile,  watery  or  otherwise,  "  and  if  the 
article  is  such  as  I  do  not  approve  of,  I  shall 
take  occasion  Monday  morning  in  the  Intelli 
gencer  not  only  to  disclaim  any  connection  with 
the  piece,  but  to  express  my  opinion  of  the  man 
who  wrote  it  and  the  paper  that  printed  it. 
Will  you  let  me  see  it? " 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  editor  apologetically, 
"  it  isn't  worth  making  so  much  fuss  about. 
There  it  is."  He  took  the  proof  from  a  pigeon 
hole  and  handed  it  over. 

Porter  glanced  through  it.  Then  put  it  in 
his  pocket.  "Who  is  responsible  for  this?"  he 
asked,  as  calm  as  usual. 


202  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Really  now,"  began  the  editor,  again  rebel 
lious. 

But  he  was  interrupted  short.  "  Never  mind 
that.  I  know  where  it  came  from.  Of  course 
it  stops  here.  Just  see  to  it,  will  you? " 

This  time  the  editor  was  genuinely  indignant. 
"  Come,  Mr.  Porter,  you  can't  run  things  quite 
like  that,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can.  I'll  wait  here  while  you 
give  the  order,  before  you  forget  it.  And  that 
must  be  final,  you  understand.  If  the  thing 
should  go  any  further,  I  shall  do  exactly  what 
I  said,  and  you  wouldn't  like  it.  You've  quar 
reled  with  Hinckley  and  you  can't  afford  to 
quarrel  with  me." 

Reluctantly  the  badgered  journalist  held  a 
brief  colloquy  with  his  subordinates,  while  Por 
ter  turned  away  for  the  moment  and  looked  out 
of  the  window. 

Just  then  a  whirlwind  tore  into  the  office  in 
the  shape  of  Burke.  Taking  no  notice  of  Por 
ter,  he  rushed  up  to  the  editor's  desk.  "See 
here.  They  tell  me  you're  going  to  print  a  libel 
about  me.  If  you  do,  I'll  horsewhip  you  till  you 
can't  stand." 

"  We  print  no  libels,"  said  the  editor. 

"  Damn  the  word.    You  know  what  I  mean." 

"  We  were  going  to  print  a  little  story,  which 
might  refer  to  you  —  or  somebody  else."  The 
editor  was  really  enjoying  himself,  for  the  first 
time  that  afternoon. 

"  Were  going  to?  "    repeated  Burke,  wilting. 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  203 

"  Were  going  to.  It's  off  now.  There's  the 
gentleman  you'll  have  to  thank."  The  editor 
rode  on  this  dramatic  situation,  like  a  gull  on 
the  crest  of  a  wave. 

Burke  turned  and  saw  Porter  for  the  first 
time.  "By  God,  Porter!"  he  cried,  rushing 
up  to  him  and  grasping  his  hand.  "  I  sha'n't 
forget  this.  It's  no  use  to  fight  you.  I've  seen 
it  all  along.  Hinckley  may  do  his  dirty  work 
for  himself,  if  he  likes." 

Then  he  slipped  his  arm  through  his  bene 
factor's,  and  the  two  left  the  office  together,  not 
even  condescending  to  nod  a  good-bye  to  the 
blighted  editor.  That  dignitary  stared  as  they 
departed.  "  Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  Por 
ter's  beastly  lucky.  There's  no  denying  it.  To 
be  sure,  he  might  have  put  up  this  whole  job, 
the  way  it's  worked;  but  I  don't  think.  Oh, 
won't  he  give  it  to  Joe  Warren! " 

As  the  two  reconciled  rivals  walked  away, 
Burke  explained,  in  a  torrent  of  words,  that 
he  was  about  ready  to  have  done  with  Hinckley 
in  any  case.  The  chairman's  conduct  had  been 
queer  all  along  and  lately  it  had  seemed  pretty 
evident  that  his  ardour  for  a  Burke  ticket  was 
cooling  off.  "  He's  got  hold  of  Dill  worthy,  I 
believe.  Dillworthy  has  money  and  that's  all 
Hinckley  thinks  about.  I'm  done  with  him. 
And  I'm  all  ready  to  take  hold  for  you,  Porter. 
I  can  see  you're  the  coming  man,  and  what's 
more,  I  believe  Hinckley  sees  it;  only  he  hates 
you  like  poison.  And  look  here,  this  business 


204  MATTHEW  SORTER 

to-day  has  fixed  me.  It  —  it  —  well,  it's  one 
of  those  things  a  man  likes  to  forget,  you  know. 
Every  man's  got  a  lot  of  'em  about  him  some 
where.  Hey? " 

Porter  agreed  heartily  with  this  sentiment  and 
perhaps  a  shade  less  heartily  accepted  his  com 
panion's  enthusiastic  offers  of  support,  Burke 
being  the  sort  of  person  who  is  more  useful 
when  he  appreciates  that  you  can  get  along 
without  him. 

Later  Porter  said  a  few  short,  sharp  words 
to  Rooney  and  Warren.  Rooney  was  used  to 
that  kind  of  thing  and  rather  liked  it,  certainly 
admired  and  respected  his  leader  all  the  more 
for  it.  But  Warren  had  been  suffering  of  late 
from  brain  enlargement.  The  failure  of  his 
stratagem  had  already  left  him  sore.  He  took 
his  medicine  in  silence;  but  he  did  not  like  it. 
"  I've  got  my  lesson,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  and 
got  it  good.  Help  a  man  along  and  see  what 
you  get  for  it.  You're  all  right,  Mat,  but  I 
guess  Joe  Warren's  all  right,  too.  In  future 
we'll  be  a  little  more  careful  of  number  one." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

ON  the  fifteenth  of  May  "  Mosquitos  "  was 
produced  at  the  Bay  State  Theatre.  The  audi 
ence,  largely  composed  of  Flitters's  friends,  was 
very  select,  very  gay,  and  very  enthusiastic. 
Viola  and  her  circle,  including  Porter,  had  seats 
together  in  the  middle  of  the  orchestra  and  led 
the  applause  on  all  occasions  appropriate  and 
inappropriate. 

McCarthy  conducted  and  the  performance 
was  a  success  from  the  beginning  of  the  over 
ture.  "  How  could  that  common  little  creature 
catch  Flitters's  spirit  so  perfectly?  "  asked  the 
spectators  one  of  another.  But  he  had  caught 
it.  The  music  was  indescribably  gay,  light, 
swift,  charged  with  rollicking  humour,  yet  not 
overcharged.  And  the  libretto,  farcical  and  ex 
travagant  in  design,  was  full  of  airy  fancy  and 
poetical  grace  in  the  execution. 

In  the  first  act  the  hero,  an  irresponsible 
creature  of  a  charming  disposition,  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning,  is  in  the  full  tide  of  his 
tenth,  or  twentieth,  or  what-not,  wooing,  when 
the  ghost  of  his  past  comes  upon  him,  in  the 
shape  of  one  fiancee  after  another,  deserted  and 
forgotten,  now  gathering  together,  from  all 

205 


206  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

quarters  of  the  globe,  to  exact  retribution.  For 
awhile,  being  ingenious  as  well  as  ingenuous,  he 
manages  to  play  them  off  against  each  other, 
finally  engaging  the  whole  company  in  a  colos 
sal  quarrel,  which  gives  him  a  chance  to  steal 
away  to  his  latest  love,  and  so  ends  the  act. 

When  the  act-drop  fell,  there  was,  of  course, 
an  immense,  unanimous  outcry  for  the  authors, 
whereupon  Flitters  appeared,  easy  and  natural 
as  ever,  towing  the  reluctant  and  unhappy 
McCarthy  in  his  wake.  "Speech!  Speech!" 
shouted  the  eager  throng  in  boxes,  orchestra, 
and  balconies.  Flitters  looked  at  his  companion. 
"  It's  up  to  you,"  he  suggested,  quite  audibly 
and  greatly  to  the  increase  of  the  general  gaiety. 
McCarthy's  only  response  was  an  obvious  start 
in  the  direction  of  the  wings.  But  Flitters  had 
him  securely  gripped.  "  Tongue-tied,  you  see," 
said  the  tormentor,  shrugging  his  shoulders; 
"  but  I  can  tell  you  just  what  he  would  like  to 
say.  '  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  is  a  momen 
tous  occasion.  You  seem  to  think  I've  done 
well,  and  I  think  I  have  myself  —  remarkably. 
By  nature  I'm  a  dreamer.  If  I  write  the  music 
I  like  to  write,  it  is  serious,  passionate,  yearn 
ing,  way  up  in  the  clouds,  in  short.  But  really 
my  musical  gift  is  astonishing,  inexplicable.  It 
wells  right  out  of  me,  like  the  pure,  crystal 
springs  of  Helicon,  so  clear,  so  calm,  that  it 
reflects  every  light  and  shade  and  colour  that 
comes  near  it.  This  time  I'm  yoked  up  with 


MATTHEW  SORTER  207 

a  fool,  who  laughs  in  season  and  out  of  season. 
And  his  laughter  has  crept  into  my  music  with 
out  my  even  knowing  it.  It  dances  in  my  vio 
lins,  and  whistles  in  my  flutes,  and  tinkles  in 
my  triangles.  Without  being  a  laugher  or  a 
fool  myself  I've  caught  the  spirit  of  the  laugher 
and  the  fool  and  done  his  work  better  than  he 
could  do  it,  because  music  is  a  divine  art  and  as 
our  cousin  Shakespeare  says,  "  the  words  of 
Mercury  are  harsh  after  the  songs  of  Apollo." 
Good  luck  to  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen.' '  The 
speaker  and  his  victim  slipped  out  of  sight  to 
a  burst  of  applause  heartier  than  had  greeted 
them  when  they  entered. 

Porter  and  Viola,  sitting  side  by  side,  had 
joined  in  the  applause  with  all  due  energy. 
"  Somehow  you  must  find  yourself  a  little  out 
of  place  in  all  this?  "  Viola  suggested. 

"  Do  I  appear  so?    A  skeleton  at  the  feast? " 
"  No,  no,  of  course  not.     You  seem  to  enjoy 
yourself  very  well." 

"  So  I  do.  I  don't  know  that  it  is  quite  the 
atmosphere  I  was  brought  up  in  —  probably  to 
my  misfortune." 

'  You  didn't  go  to  the  theatre  as  a  child?" 
"  No.  My  father  was  a  minister.  I  don't 
know  that  he  would  actually  have  disapproved 
of  it.  But  it  didn't  come  in  my  way.  My  sis 
ter  never  went  till  she  was  thirty  —  and  was 
sorry  she  did  then,  I  think,  though  I've  tempted 
her  occasionally  since." 


208  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  I  should  like  to  know  your  sister."  And,  as 
he  did  not  immediately  reply,  Viola  went  on: 
"  You  think  she  wouldn't  like  to  know  me?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  whether  she  would,"  he  an 
swered,  with  engaging  frankness,  "  and  deci 
ding  in  the  affirmative.  But  —  " 

"  But  you  doubt  whether  she  would  like  to 
know  George?  " 

"  It  would  take  her  a  long  time  to  get  used  to 
George  certainly." 

They  listened  for  a  moment  in  silence  to  the 
buzz  and  chatter  all  around  them.  "  Oh,"  began 
Viola  again,  "I've  heard  all  about  Mr.  Burke. 
I  congratulate  you." 

"  Thanks,"  answered  Porter,  laughing.  "  But 
isn't  that  altogether  too  serious  a  subject  for  the 
occasion?  " 

*  You  and  I  shall  never  wholly  escape  from 
our  seriousness,  I  think.  We  may  love  the 
laughers  and  barken  after  them,  but  we  can 
never  quite  step  from  our  world  into  theirs. 
At  any  rate,  I've  been  nothing  but  serious 
lately.  I've  read  '  Power  and  Responsibility ' 
and  I'm  going  to  read  it  over  again  after  I've 
read  the  other  things  you  mentioned.  I'm  a 
convert  —  I  need  hardly  say  that  —  such  a  val 
uable  one  I  must  be.  I  believe  in  the  idea  and 
I  may  even  come  to  believe  in  the  people.  Think 
of  it!  Ijsn't  it  humiliating?  But  there  are  a 
great  many  questions  I  want  to  ask  and  I  can't 
ask  them  here,  can  I?  Come  and  see  me  some 
evening  and  straighten  it  all  out." 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  209 

"  What  sort  of  questions?  "  he  inquired.  But 
just  then  the  orchestra  prefaced  the  lift  of  the 
curtain  with  a  hint  of  that  mosquito  dance  music 
which  was  to  be  the  crowning  charm  of  the 
whole,  and  which  had  peeped  and  peered  in  odd 
places  all  through,  always  vanishing  before  the 
ear  could  grasp  it  in  any  satisfying  entirety. 

The  second  act  went  quite  as  gaily  and  suc 
cessfully  as  the  first.  It  appears  that  the  most 
recent  object  of  the  hero's  affection  has  another 
lover  whose  jealousy  prompts  him  to  make  an 
investigation,  which  leads  to  unfortunate  results. 
After  manifold  vicissitudes,  the  hero's  mon 
strous  improprieties  are  discovered  and  his  latest 
flame  throws  him  off  with  withering  scorn  and 
returns  to  her  former  lover's  arms.  This  re 
lentless  person  suggests  snowing  the  hero  under 
with  some  three  dozen  breach  of  promise  suits; 
but  the  chorus,  grown  reminiscently  tender,  begs 
him  off  on  condition  that  he  will  agree  to  marry 
his  first  victim,  who  is  by  this  time  very  old,  very 
stout,  and  very  plain.  If  he  deceives  her,  they, 
mosquito-like,  will  torment  him  to  death.  And 
to  show  him  how,  they  dance,  and  buzz,  and 
whirl  about  him,  faster  and  faster  and  ever 
faster,  one  bright,  dazzling,  perpetual  whirl,  till 
the  curtain  falls  upon  a  mass  of  shifting  colours 
and  gauzy  wings  and  a  general  riot  of  inex 
tinguishable  merriment. 

After  the  performance  Viola's  flock  returned 
to  sup  with  her,  and  Flitters  and  McCarthy 
joined  them  as  soon  as  it  was  possible  to  escape 


210  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

from  the  enthusiastic  congratulations  of  innu 
merable  friends.  The  supper  was  gay  and 
merry  beyond  even  ordinary  gaiety  and  merri 
ment.  Flitters  was  evidently  delighted  with  his 
success,  yet  oddly  enough,  although  he  was  full 
of  jest  and  pleasantry,  his  jests  were  quieter 
and  more  delicate  than  usual.  There  was  noth 
ing  boisterous  about  him,  nothing  noisy,  nothing 
of  over-elation  or  vulgar  triumph.  Between  him 
and  Flora  and  Laura  it  was  a  perpetual,  daz 
zling  interchange  of  repartee,  like  the  rush  of 
sparks  in  a  broken  circuit;  as  he  himself  said 
of  it,  "  brilliant  in  the  passage,  but  a  mere  in 
flammation  of  nothing."  Poor  Constance 
Weber  could  only  listen,  poor,  dull,  beautiful 
Constance,  who,  as  Flitters  suggested  —  not  to 
her  —  must  have  been  inoculated  for  jokes  in 
her  infancy.  The  less  she  understood,  the  more 
she  was  fascinated,  as  was  perhaps  natural.  In 
deed,  it  was  curious  and  almost  pitiful  to  watch 
the  charm  which  Flitters  had  come  to  have  for 
her.  She  played  his  songs  —  in  her  wooden 
way.  She  repeated  his  jests  —  with  the  point 
lost  utterly.  She  had  eyes  and  ears  for  no  one 
else,  when  he  was  in  the  room. 

"  You'd  better  look  out,"  said  Flora  to  him, 
"  there's  a  grand  passion  brewing  there." 

"  For  me?  Nonsense.  You  might  as  well 
have  a  passion  for  a  bunch  of  crackers  or  a 
firefly.  Nobody  would  ever  care  for  me  seri 
ously,  nor  I  for  any  one.  She  likes  to  hear  me 
talk,  because  —  between  ourselves  —  it  isn't 


3KCATTHEW  SORTER  211 

very  flattering  —  she  doesn't  understand  a  word 
I  say.  Some  day  she  will  and  then  her  toy 
balloon  will  burst." 

The  other  author  of  "  Mosquitos "  was  also 
basking  in  female  favour  in  a  quieter  way. 
Ruth's  admiration  was  less  foolishly  obvious 
than  Constance's;  but  it  was  more  than  evi 
dent  to  a  keen  observer  like  Wingate,  whose 
wits  were  sharpened  by  jealousy.  And  McCar 
thy's  way  of  taking  it  was  a  curious  study. 
Probably  it  was  agreeable  to  him.  Certainly 
it  was.  Little  things  showed  that  clearly 
enough.  But  he  seemed  as  humble  and  defer 
ential  in  his  mode  of  addressing  her,  as  if  she 
were  a  superior  being  to  whom  he  hardly  dared 
raise  his  eyes.  All  the  talking  between  them 
was  done  by  her.  His  response  was  only  an 
occasional  monosyllable,  and  that  not  always 
apt. 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  all  comes  to  you,  Eugene. 
How  does  it? " 

"  Why  -  " 

"And  you  don't  even  know.  Are  all  sorts 
of  beautiful  airs  running  through  your  head  all 
the  time?  —  in  church?  —  and  at  the  dentist's? 
Do  you  wake  up  with  a  waltz  in  your  ears  and 
go  to  sleep  to  a  fairies'  song? " 

McCarthy  laughed  a  little. 

"Do  you?     Do  you?" 

"  Sometimes." 

'  Why  can't  you  teach  it  to  the  rest  of  us? 
Perhaps  one  could  catch  it,  if  one  lived  with 


212  MATTHEW  SORTER 

you.  But  there  must  be  awkward  times.  For 
instance,  at  a  funeral,  if  one  were  to  hear  dance 
music,  wild  dance  music,  nothing  but  dance 
music.  But  one  wouldn't  mind  those  little  awk 
wardnesses.  I  shouldn't,  if  such  things  would 
only  come  to  me;  but  they  don't.  Yet  I  love 
music.  I  don't  believe  you  love  music  any  more 
than  I  do.  It's  just  gift.  Why,  music,  when 
you  play  for  instance,  makes  me  throb  and 
quiver  and  tingle  all  over.  I  forget  myself  and 
where  I  am  and  what  I'm  doing  and  what  other 
people  are  doing.  .  .  .  ' 

So  she  talked  in  her  rhapsodic  way,  her  voice 
just  a  little  husky  from  enthusiasm  —  and  scar 
let  fever.  And  he  ate  ices  and  little  cakes  and 
drank  champagne  —  rather  greedily  —  and  lis 
tened  and  wondered.  And  Wingate,  looking 
on,  wondered,  too  —  at  the  woman's  sympa 
thetic  imagination  which  could  penetrate  such 
a  rough  husk  to  the  genius  underneath. 

Then,  at  the  end  of  supper,  a  few  speeches 
were  made.  Porter  praised  the  delicacy  and 
originality  of  the  opera  with  more  appreciation 
than  either  Viola  or  Flitters  would  have  given 
him  credit  for.  "  Hear!  Hear!  "  cried  the  lat 
ter.  "  You're  really  making  progress."  Win- 
gate  ventured  some  comments  on  the  personality 
of  the  authors,  regretting  the  well-known  mod 
esty  of  both  of  them,  which  would  doubtless 
prevent  any  adequate  recognition  on  their  part 
of  the  importance  of  the  occasion.  "  Neverthe 
less,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  let  them  go  without 


MATTHEW  PORTER  213 

any  response  to  our  curiosity.  I  call  upon  Mr. 
McCarthy  for  remarks." 

"McCarthy!  McCarthy!  Speech!  Speech!" 
shouted  the  company. 

McCarthy  found  himself  on  his  legs,  sup 
ported  by  Flitters  on  one  side  and  by  Flora  on 
the  other;  but  the  speech  didn't  come.  "  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,"  he  gasped  —  "  Ladies  and  gen 
tlemen  —  I  —  Oh,  bring  me  my  violin." 

They  brought  him  his  violin  and  then  he 
spoke,  gave  them  a  quick  summary  of  the  opera, 
caught  little  threads  of  airs  from  the  tangle 
which  was  swaying  in  everybody's  memory, 
drew  them  out,  flashed  them  clear  a  moment, 
then  let  them  melt  into  others  of  contrasted 
sweetness.  It  was  difficult  to  tell  which  to  ad 
mire  most,  the  ease  of  the  performance  or  the 
perfection  of  it;  and  Ruth  was  not  the  only 
one  who  throbbed  and  quivered  under  it  like  the 
strings  of  the  violin  itself. 

When  the  long  applause  was  over,  Flitters 
rose.  "  I  protest,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no 
weapons.  What  can  an  unarmed  man  do 
against  such  a  display  as  that?  But  I  haven't 
a  trace  of  envy  in  my  composition.  I  can't  play 
the  fiddle  like  my  friend  here;  but  I  really 
believe  I  have  more  wit  than  he  has.  Yet,  after 
all,  I  don't  know.  What  has  my  wit  ever  done 
for  me?  I'm  not  likely  to  be  governor.  I'm 
not  likely  even  to  own  a  big  yellow  newspaper. 
No  woman  has  ever  fallen  in  love  with  me.  No 
woman  ever  will.  To  get  those  things  you  don't 


214  MATTHEW  SORTER 

want  wit.  You  want  a  great  belief  in  yourself 
and  the  habit  of  making  people  think  you  be 
lieve  in  them.  Now  I  think  governors  are  a 
hollow  sham,  all  except  my  friend  Sancho 
Panza.  I  think  proprietors  of  great  newspa 
pers  are  an  unmitigated  evil.  And  the  love  of 
woman  —  the  love  of  woman  —  I  won't  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  that  — I  daren't.  Then  the 
man  who  goes  after  such  things  must  live  in  the 
future.  What  is  the  future?  A  bubble,  a  cloud, 
a  shadow,  nothing,  more  ghostly  even  than  the 
past.  Give  me  the  present,  a  sunny  corner  by 
an  old  wall,  with  bees  murmuring  and  ripe 
blackberries  ready  to  drop  into  my  mouth.  The 
present  is  always  like  that,  if  you  have  wit 
enough  to  make  it  so.  Eugene,  my  friend,  play 
us  the  sunny  corner  by  the  wall." 

Eugene  played  it.  Then  they  all  went  home 
very  quietly. 

Viola  detained  Wingate  a  few  moments. 
"  Frank,"  she  said,  "  you  may  think  it  a  ridicu 
lous  time;  but  I  haven't  seen  you  much  lately. 
I  want  to  ask  you  about  Mr.  Porter's  cam 
paign." 

Wingate  expressed  himself  enthusiastically  as 
to  the  man  and  as  to  his  ideas. 

"  But  the  prospect  of  success?  "  Viola  per 
sisted. 

"  Ah,  the  prospect  of  success.  Well,  Hinck- 
ley's  a  hard  one  to  beat  for  the  nomination,  and 
after  that  the  Republicans  have  a  solid  grip  on 


MATTHEW  SORTER  215 

the  state.     But  Porter  will  give  them  a  good 

fight." 

"Money?"    she  asked. 

"  Money?  Is  never  too  aboundant  for  any 
thing  in  this  world.  But  I  am  doing  fairly  well 
with  it.  We  don't  need  any  to  speak  of  yet. 
The  call  will  come  by  and  by." 

"  I  want  to  help,  Frank.  You  know  money 
is  almost  too  abundant  with  me.  A  thousand 
dollars  —  five  thousand  — .  It  seems  to  me 
worth  while." 

Wingate  looked  at  her  a  little  astonished. 
"  What  does  this  mean,  Viola?  You  know  what 
you've  always  said  about  politics.  You,  an 
aristocrat,  you,  an  artist,  you,  a  cynic,  take  an 
active  interest  in  a  Democratic  campaign?  " 

"I've  learned  some  things,"  she  answered, 
briefly,  but  not  shortly.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever 
was  a  cynic.  I'm  not  sure  but  Mr.  Porter's 
campaign  is  a  work  of  art,  of  a  large  kind  — 
of  genius,  at  any  rate.  He  has  interested  me 
in  it.  I've  read  a  good  deal  in  the  last  few 
weeks.  Shall  you  want  the  money,  Frank?  " 

"  Certainly  we  shall  want  the  money." 

*  There's  another  thing,"  went  on  the  eager 
convert.  "  Those  letters  of  Dudley's,  if  they 
are  Dudley's  —  they  are  impertinent.  They 
ought  to  be  answered!  " 

Wingate  laughed.  *  They're  part  of  the 
game.  Haven't  you  seen  our  editorials  about 
them? " 


216  JttATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Yes,  IVe  seen  them.  They're  very,  very 
mild,  Frank." 

Frank  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  We  have 
to  be  mild." 

"  Well,  never  mind  Dudley's  letters.  But 
there  ought  to  be  some  direct,  strong  writing 
on  Mr.  Porter's  side." 

"  I  imagine  he  means  to  take  the  thing  up 
later  himself." 

"Probably  he  will,"  said  Viola.  "But  it 
would  be  better  for  some  one  else."  She  paused 
a  moment.  "  Frank,  if  I  write  a  letter,  will 
you  print  it  and  keep  my  secret?  " 

Wingate's  brown  eyes  filled  with  laughter. 
"You  write  a  letter?" 

But  she  answered,  without  disturbance:  "  I. 
IVe  written  more  or  less,  at  one  time  or  an 
other,  for  different  periodicals,  fairly  success 
fully.  I'm  full  of  this  subject  now,  you  hardly 
realize  how  full.  When  I  take  hold  of  a  thing, 
I  take  hold  of  it  thoroughly.  I  don't  take 
hold  of  many.  Of  course  you  won't  print  it, 
if  you  don't  like  it  when  it's  done." 

By  this  time  Wingate  had  recovered  con 
sciousness.  "  Like  it?  "  he  said.  "  I'll  risk 
liking  it.  It's  a  magnificent  idea.  I  know  how 
you  take  hold  of  things.  Do  it  at  once.  And 
we'll  print  it  at  once.  In  a  way  that  will  make 
it  tell,  too." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Not  at  once.  I'm  not 
ready  yet  —  may  never  be.  But  I'm  coming 
to  it." 


MATTHEW  <PORTER  217 

Then,  as  it  was  after  two  o'clock,  Win- 
gate  took  his  leave,  more  impressed  than  ever 
with  Porter's  gift  for  winning  things  and  peo 
ple. 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE  Commonweal  Club  was  holding  its 
monthly  dinner  and  Porter  had  been  invited 
to  speak.  It  was  an  organization  of  eminent 
dignity  and  respectability  and  of  dulness  cor 
responding.  Its  politics  were  nominally  inde 
pendent,  practically  very  conservative,  not  to 
say  Republican.  Grave  merchants,  lawyers, 
physicians,  etc.,  nodded  their  heads  over  a  frugal 
repast  and  imagined  that  the  intellectual  nour 
ishment  must  be  exquisite  because  the  material 
was  not.  Celebrities  in  esse  and  more  particu 
larly  in  posse,  as  being  cheaper,  were  invited  to 
come  and  talk  out  the  price  of  their  dinner. 
Afterwards,  members  of  the  club  who  had 
nothing  to  say  said  it  at  considerable  length 
and  were  tolerated  by  other  members  in  the 
hope  that  their  turn  would  arrive  by  and  by, 
while  the  celebrities  industriously  looked  pleas 
ant  and  wished  with  all  their  hearts  they  were 
somewhere  else. 

Before  the  banquet  Porter  stood  up  with  the 
president  and  the  other  celebrities,  and  was  in 
troduced  to  various  personages,  important  and 
otherwise.  Heath  strolled  by  among  the  rest; 
and  the  bystanders,  who  knew  something  of 

218 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  219 

past  and  present  rivalries,  watched  the  meeting 
curiously.  But  there  was  nothing  worth  watch 
ing.  Both  men  were  hardened  to  publicity  and 
knew  how  to  meet  it.  They  shook  hands  with 
entire  apparent  friendliness. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  here,"  said  Heath.  "  Go 
ing  to  give  us  some  light  on  things,  I  under 
stand.  We  need  it." 

"  That's  a  healthy  view  to  take,"  answered 
his  adversary,  smiling.  "  I  wish  every  one  was 
as  open-minded  as  you  appear  to  be." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  open-minded.  There's  no 
doubt  about  that  —  open-minded,  open-handed, 
open-hearted.  That  fits  me  exactly." 

Then  the  company  went  out  to  dinner.  Por 
ter  sat  between  the  president  and  a  congressman 
from  the  far  west,  whose  whole  soul  was  ab 
sorbed  in  irrigation.  He  talked  irrigation  and 
nothing  else;  but  Porter  listened  and  ques 
tioned  with  such  dexterous  tact  that  later  the 
western  congressman  swore  he  had  not  seen  a 
more  up-to-date  man  in  all  New  England,  and 
that  if  he  was  nominated  for  governor,  the  Re 
publicans  would  have  to  hustle  for  it.  On  the 
other  side  the  president  came  to  much  the  same 
conclusion,  though  he  certainly  would  not  have 
proclaimed  it  with  so  much  vehemence.  Neither 
of  them  could  have  told  just  why  Porter  im 
pressed  them;  but  he  did. 

The  speaking  of  the  evening  was  supposed 
to  be  concerned  with  general  possibilities  of 
governmental  reform.  The  first  celebrity  be- 


220  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

lieved  that  nothing  great  or  permanent  could 
be  accomplished  unless  the  best  men  of  the  coun 
try  would  go  into  politics.  This  idea,  which 
was  perhaps  not  wholly  original,  the  celebrity 
propounded,  in  ornate  and  flowing  periods,  for 
upwards  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour;  but  as 
he  made  no  suggestion  as  to  how  the  best  men 
could  be  got  into  politics,  his  oratory  was  con 
sidered  by  some  to  be  more  fluent  than  satisfy 
ing. 

The  next  speaker  was  Porter's  neighbour, 
the  western  congressman.  At  the  first  glance 
it  might  seem  difficult  to  connect  governmental 
reform  with  irrigation.  But,  after  all,  irriga 
tion  suggests  running  water,  which  suggests 
purity,  which  by  contrast  suggests  government 
in  the  United  States.  By  this  process,  or  some 
other,  the  western  congressman  arrived  at  his 
pet  hobby,  and  discussed  it  for  half  an  hour, 
greatly  to  his  own  contentment. 

Then  Porter.  He  spoke  very  quietly  and 
simply,  without  any  of  the  rhetoric  which  had 
been  employed  by  the  other  celebrities;  yet 
somehow  his  hearers  stopped  wriggling  in  their 
chairs  and  sat  up  and  listened.  He  was  inter 
ested,  he  said,  as  perhaps  some  of  them  knew, 
in  a  considerable  scheme  of  governmental  re 
form,  and  this,  as  he  believed,  would  go  far  to 
get  rid  of  many  of  the  evils  which  of  late  years 
had  scandalized  all  lovers  of  free  government 
and  of  their  country.  There  was  not  sufficient 
time  and  perhaps  this  was  not  the  place  to  de- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  221 

velop  the  full  nature  of  his  scheme,  which  he 
should  hope  later  to  place  before  them  and  all 
the  voters  of  the  state  in  a  tangible  and  definite 
form.  For  this  evening  he  wished  to  confine 
himself  to  the  most  fundamental  and  essential 
element  in  his  position,  the  importance  of  state 
government.  He  then  went  on  to  show  how  in 
the  beginning  the  state  governments  were  too 
strong  and  the  Federal  too  weak  and  how  for 
a  long  time  the  country  suffered  from  this  lack 
of  balance.  Then  gradually  a  change  took 
place.  National  feeling  developed.  Improved 
means  of  communication  broke  up  the  old  pro 
vincialism.  Finally  the  Civil  War  made  it  a 
sort  of  treason  to  look  upon  the  states  as  any 
thing  but  mere  local  divisions  wholly  subordi 
nate  to  the  government  at  Washington,  and  in 
every  direction  that  government  was  now  ta 
king  enormous  strides  towards  complete  and  en 
tire  control.  But,  the  speaker  urged,  this  could 
not  be  brought  about  without  a  radical  change 
in  our  system.  The  whole  machinery  of  local 
administration  and  civil  life  was  constitution 
ally  managed  by  the  states.  Yet  it  was  impossi 
ble  to  get  people  to  take  any  serious  interest  in 
state  elections  or  in  the  doings  of  the  state 
legislatures,  which  were  daily  settling  —  or  un 
settling  —  questions  most  vital  to  the  welfare 
of  every  citizen  of  the  community, 

"  Do  you  realize,  gentlemen,"  he  went  on, 
speaking  straight  and  strong,  with  passionate 
earnestness,  "  how  many,  I  might  say  most,  of 


222  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

our  practical,  energetic  men,  have  an  obscure, 
unconscious  feeling  that  the  state  governments 
are  merely  a  fossilized  survival,  an  encumbrance 
to  the  great  sweep  of  progress,  an  ingenious 
device  for  doubling  the  expense  of  administra 
tion  and  halving  its  efficiency?  Gentlemen,  if 
this  is  really  true,  necessarily  true,  the  state  gov 
ernments  must  go,  and  let  them  go.  Let  us  have 
our  laws  made  for  us  in  Washington,  the  laws 
that  marry  us  and  bury  us,  the  laws  that  regu 
late  our  buying  and  selling,  our  eating  and 
drinking,  the  disposition  of  our  fortunes  and  the 
training  of  our  children.  Let  congressmen 
from  California  —  no  offence  intended  to  our 
friend  here  —  decide  what  shall  be  read  in  our 
schools,  and  congressmen  from  Louisiana  dis 
cuss  what  shall  be  permitted  in  our  churches. 
Better  to  have  it  openly  thus  than  to  have  Mas 
sachusetts  elections  turning  on  the  tariff,  while 
all  the  thousandfold  more  important  issues  are 
smothered  in  dark  lobbies  and  committee-rooms. 
But,  for  myself,  gentlemen,  I  am  for  Massa 
chusetts  —  I  won't  say,  first.  There  can  never 
again  be  question  of  that.  But  I  am  for  Massa 
chusetts.  Let  us  send  our  congressmen  to 
Washington  —  some  of  them  very  gladly  —  to 
do  their  duty  there.  But  let  us  attend  to  our 
own  affairs  at  home.  Here,  on  our  green  New 
England  hills,  in  our  rocky  pastures  by  the  sea, 
where, the  Pilgrims  first  took  refuge  in  the  name 
of  liberty  and  holy  living,  let  us  look  to  it  that 
the  descendants  are  worthy  of  their  ancestors; 


MATTHEW  SORTER  223 

and  when  at  our  solemn  festivals  we  use  the  con 
secrated  formula,  '  God  Save  the  Common 
wealth  of  Massachusetts/  let  us  assure  ourselves 
the  consciousness  that  we  have  done  our  part  to 
make  a  commonwealth  worth  saving.  We  can 
not  do  a  greater  service  to  our  countrymen  of 
California  and  Texas,  to  the  United  States,  or 
to  the  world." 

The  interest  aroused  by  the  beginning  of  this 
speech  continued  and  increased  until  the  end. 
The  applause  was  long  and  hearty  and  many 
of  those  present  afterwards  complimented  Por 
ter  and  expressed  their  sympathy  with  all  he  had 
said. 

Not  the  least  curious  auditor  and  spectator 
had  been  William  J.  Wood,  who  had  entered 
about  the  middle  of  dinner  and  found  a  seat 
next  his  nephew.  While  Porter  was  speaking 
a  good  many  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  Wood's 
face  with  eager  speculation  as  to  his  impres 
sions  of  his  antagonist.  But  they  saw  nothing. 
Those  cold,  quiet,  firm,  heavy  features  behind 
the  fat  cigar  remained  utterly  impassive.  The 
Republican  chief  might  have  been  thinking  of 
his  latter  end,  instead  of  what  was  going  on 
about  him,  for  all  his  face  revealed  of  the 
matter. 

Now  that  it  was  over,  Heath  and  Wood  rose 
and  made  their  way  towards  the  celebrities. 

"  My  uncle  says  he  has  shaken  hands  with 
you  before,  but  thinks  you  may  have  forgotten 
it,"  began  Heath. 


224  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Hardly,"  Porter  answered.  And  he  speci 
fied  one  occasion. 

The  three  talked  generalities  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  Then  Wood  said  abruptly,  "  I  hear 
you're  out  to  smash  the  Republican  party?  " 

Porter  laughed,  as  did  the  others  within  ear 
shot.  "I'm  not  out  to  smash  anything,"  he 
answered.  "I'm  on  a  machine  that's  bound  to 
go.  Anything  that  gets  in  the  way  may  be 
smashed." 

"  We'll  try  not  to  get  in  the  way,"  replied 
Wood,  slightly  ironical.  "  But  why  not  smash 
the  Democrats  just  as  well?  " 

"  Some  think  they  don't  need  it.  Then,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  believe  the  Republicans  are 
bound  to  smash  themselves.  They  would  have 
done  so  long  ago.  Only  just  as  the  Republican 
head  gets  within  an  inch  of  the  Democratic  wall, 
the  wall  collapses.  That's  Republican  luck." 

"  Perhaps  the  luck  may  hold  out  awhile 
longer,"  Heath  suggested. 

After  this  they  shifted  to  safer  ground  again, 
and  Porter  soon  took  his  leave. 

Before  going  home,  he  looked  in  for  a  few 
moments  at  Viola's.  Since  the  performance  of 
:<  Mosquitos,"  he  had  passed  one  long  evening 
with  her,  and  had  been  amazed  to  find  how 
thoroughly  she  had  mastered  his  ideas,  how 
completely  she  had  made  them  her  own.  One 
or  two  difficult  points  they  had  discussed  at 
length  with  the  result  of  putting  some  minor 
details  in  a  new  light,  even  for  him.  He  had 


MATTHEW  SORTER  225 

met  no  one  hitherto,  man  or  woman,  who  had 
taken  the  same  intelligent  interest  in  the  scheme' 
or  in  whom  he  had  found  the  same  sense  of 
assured  support. 

To-night,  however,  she  was  in  the  midst  of 
her  joyous  company.  The  whirl  of  laughter 
and  bright  thoughts  about  her  was  merrier  than 
ever  and  Porter  was  astonished  to  find  how 
readily  he  entered  into  it.  It  seemed  a  so  much 
more  genuine  world  than  the  stiff  assembly  he 
had  just  left,  so  much  more  sincere,  so  much 
more  kindly,  even  more  earnest  in  any  valid  or 
enduring  sense  of  the  term.  Flitters's  irony  was 
a  more  charming  thing  than  William  J.  Wood's 
and  perhaps  quite  as  useful  to  mankind  in 
general. 

Wingate,  who  had  been  at  the  club,  was  giv 
ing  the  company  some  account  of  Porter's 
speech  when  he  arrived.  "  It  was  just  the  very 
thing,"  Wingate  said.  "  No  politics  —  patriot 
ism  —  Massachusetts  patriotism  —  good  enough 
for  me  —  and  for  a  good  many  others.  We'll 
have  it  all  in  the  Intelligencer  to-morrow  and 
an  editorial  that  will  help  it  along." 

But  Flitters  would  have  no  more  politics  just 
then,  and  dragged  every  one  of  them,  even  Por 
ter  and  Viola,  into  a  wild  country  dance  of  his 
own  invention,  which  seemed  to  disturb  the 
equilibrium  of  all  animate  and  inanimate  things. 

Later  Porter  found  a  few  minutes'  peaceful 
talk  with  his  hostess,  who  had  a  question  or  two 
to  put.  When  she  had  all  the  light  she  wanted, 


226  MATTHEW  SORTER 

she  congratulated  him  on  his  speech.     "  I  know 
from  what  Frank  told  us  that  it  was  successful," 
she  said.     "  Of  course  I  knew  it  would  be;   but 
it  seems  to  have  been  more  than  of  course." 
"  It  was  all  very  pleasant  certainly." 
"  Ah,    we    are    making    progress,"    she    con 
tinued;   and  as  he  smiled  at  the  "  we,"  "  I  don't 
do   things   by   halves,    you   know.      My   whole 
heart  is  in  this  contest  now.     I  want  to  see  you 


win." 


"  I  hope  you  will  —  I  trust  so." 

"  I  know  I  shall.  Oh,  about  Mr.  Burke.  Is 
he  still  faithful?" 

"  More  so  than  ever,"  Porter  answered. 
"  He's  a  good  fellow  —  a  thoroughly  good  fel 
low  —  so  good  that  I  think  he'll  take  the  lieu 
tenant-governorship.  And,  let  me  tell  you, 
that's  a  great  deal  for  a  man  who  set  out  to 
be  governor." 

"  So  it  is,"  she  agreed.    "  And  Hinckley?  " 

"Ah,  Hinckley!  He's  cleverer  than  all  the 
rest  of  us  put  together.  And  he'll  never  come 
round.  He's  got  a  strong  hold  of  the  machine. 
If  we're  beaten,  it  will  be  Hinckley 's  doing." 

Viola's  great  eyes  grew  dark.  "Fight!" 
she  said  quietly,  but  with  an  intensity  that  stung. 
"Fight!  How  I  wish  I  were  a  man! " 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  moments,  Viola 
absorbed  in  thought.  Porter  looking  now  at  her, 
now  at  the  gay  company  across  the  room. 

Viola  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  I  almost  wish 
I  were  to  be  in  town  all  summer." 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  227 

"  You  are  going  away?  "  he  asked,  and  his 
tone  showed  anything  but  satisfaction.  "  But 
of  course  you  are.  Soon? " 

"  In  a  week  or  two  now  —  to  Falmouth.  I 
have  a  place  there.  I  shall  see  the  papers  con 
stantly.  And  there  won't  be  so  much  going  on 
through  the  summer  months,  I  suppose?  " 

"About  the  campaign,  you  mean?"  wilfully 
implying  an  uncertainty  she  had  left  no  room 
for. 

"  What  else  should  I  mean? " 

"  There  won't  be  much  going  on  on  the  sur 
face,  of  course.  There  will  be  plenty  under 
neath,  I  should  say." 

"  Ah,  and  underneath  is  just  what  one  likes 
to  see.  But  I  shall  come  back  early  in  Sep 
tember,  at  any  rate,  long  before  the  convention." 
Then,  after  a  brief  pause,  she  added,  "  Why 
won't  you  run  down  to  Falmouth  sometime? 
Miss  Tucker  and  I  keep  a  house  full  of  friends 
there  all  summer." 

It  was  very  kind  of  her  certainly.  It  would 
be  a  great  pleasure  —  only  he  should  be  so  busy. 
Yes,  he  thought  he  could  come. 

When  he  reflected  afterwards,  the  idea  of  her 
going  was  distinctly  disagreeable.  It  was  not 
she,  it  was  her  atmosphere  he  should  miss.  It 
relaxed  his  nerves,  diverted  him,  brightened  him 
wonderfully  to  get  out  of  politics  into  sunshine 
and  laughter.  And  then  latterly  she  herself 
had  seemed  to  understand  so  well. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

MARGARET  FERGUSON'S  wedding  was  fixed  for 
Monday,  June  fifth,  and  Porter  of  course  re 
ceived  cards  at  the  proper  time.  He  would  have 
preferred  to  stay  away;  but  it  seemed  pluckier 
and  wiser  to  go. 

He  went  to  Foxbridge  Saturday  night  and 
passed  a  quiet  evening  with  his  sister.  She  had 
heard  something  of  Viola,  something  of  Por 
ter's  frequent  visits  to  her,  something  of  the 
gay  and  worldly  set  with  which  those  visits  must 
bring  him  into  contact.  Clara  was  not  naturally 
a  meddlesome  person;  but  Matthew's  career 
was  the  one  great  interest  of  her  life.  Was  it 
wise  for  him  to  come  under  influences  which 
might  distract  him  from  the  serious  bent  of  his 
lofty  purpose?  If  there  was  just  a  trifle  of 
jealousy  mingled  with  her  sisterly  anxiety,  who 
shall  blame  her? 

Her  brother  received  her  gentle  inquiries  with 
an  equal  gentleness.  He  did  not  believe  any 
thing  could  turn  him  from  his  purpose.  He 
was  sure  that  Miss  Buckingham  was  very  far 
from  wishing  to  do  so.  Then  he  explained 
what  an  interest  she  seemed  to  take,  how  quick, 
intelligent,  and  responsive  she  was.  He  wanted 

228 


MATTHEW  TORTER  229 

Clara  to  know  her,  sometime  they  two  would 
be  brought  together. 

Clara  assented,  with  a  little  sigh.  If  this 
lady  was  indeed  what  Mat  thought  her,  there 
must  be  no  jealousy,  should  be  none.  Every 
help  to  him  was  to  be  welcomed  and  encouraged. 
Yet  —  yet  - 

Sunday  morning  the  two  went  to  church. 
Margaret  was  not  there,  but  for  Porter  her 
image  was  more  overpowering  than  her  real 
presence  would  have  been.  In  one  sense  he  did 
not  care  for  her  any  longer,  not  for  the  living 
Margaret,  not  for  —  Mrs.  Heath.  But  he  was 
a  person  who  did  not  forget  easily.  Bits  of 
speech  would  come  to  him,  turns  of  phrase, 
lovely,  fading  gestures  —  all  so  long  past,  so 
far  away,  yet  so  intensely  vivid  that  they  flamed 
against  the  indifferent  present  like  lightning  in 
a  black  night.  Thus  it  is  to  be  feared  that  on 
that  morning  the  comfortable  droning  of  Rev 
erend  Mr.  Longbreath  brought  little  spiritual 
profit  to  one  of  his  hearers,  at  any  rate. 

In  the  afternoon  Porter  took  a  long  walk 
with  Marston  and  to  him  also  imparted  some 
of  his  enthusiasm  as  to  Viola  and  her  value  as 
a  proselyte  for  the  cause. 

Just  after  six  o'clock,  as  the  brother  and 
sister  were  sitting  dowrn  to  their  simple  supper, 
Porter  was  called  to  the  telephone. 

"  Mat,"  said  a  voice  that  almost  made  him 
drop  the  receiver,  "  Mat,  I  want  to  see  you. 
Be  at  the  landing  with  your  canoe  to-night  — 


230  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

after  dark  —  eight  o'clock  or  so.     Wait  till  I 


come." 


She  rang  off  before  he  had  time  to  think  of 
answering  and  he  walked  slowly  back  to  his 
sister,  thoughtful,  puzzled,  bewildered.  What 
did  it  mean?  Why  should  she  —  of  all  people 
—  want  to  see  him  —  of  all  people  —  at  that 
hour?  It  was  indecent,  impossible.  He  would 
call  her  up  again  and  tell  her  so. 

But  he  didn't.  When  the  time  came,  he  got 
his  canoe,  and  paddled  slowly  to  the  appointed 
spot.  It  was  a  warm  night,  clear  and  moonlit. 
The  evening  star  hung  tranquil  in  the  west. 
The  air  was  quivering,  throbbing,  aching,  with 
the  passion  of  the  full  spring  season.  Why  had 
she  called  him?  Why  did  she  want  him?  What 
did  it  mean?  He  was  a  fool  to  humour  her. 
If  they  were  seen  together,  the  whole  town 
would  talk.  There  would  be  gossip  that  might 
seriously  injure  him  for  good  and  all.  For  an 
instant  he  wondered  whether  she  could  mean  it 
so,  whether  it  could  be  a  trick  of  Heath's  to 
discredit  his  rival  at  a  critical  time.  But  he  re 
jected  the  idea.  Heath  was  capable  of  any 
thing;  but  such  a  device  as  that  might  be 
double-edged.  And  surely  Margaret  was  not 
capable  of  it.  Nor  would  she  be  inclined  to 
risk  so  much  herself  for  her  future  husband's 
benefit. 

He  had  not  waited  many  moments  before  she 
appeared,  stepped  into  the  canoe,  and  seated 
herself  without  a  word.  She  was  all  in  white, 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  231 

no  hat,  no  gloves.  Silently  he  pushed  off  and 
headed  up-stream.  The  twilight  was  deeper 
now  and  he  could  see  little  of  her  but  the  white, 
vague  figure,  half-reclining,  motionless.  The 
overwhelming,  star-shot  quiet  was  broken  only 
by  the  peaceful  sounds  of  summer,  the  hum  of 
a  thousand  insects,  now  and  then  the  hoarse 
rumble  of  a  frog. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak? "  she  asked  at 
length. 

"Speak?"  he  repeated  softly.  "It  is  you 
who  should  speak,  explain." 

"  Explain!  "  was  her  scornful  answer.  "  Do 
you  expect  a  woman  to  explain  her  whims?" 
Then,  after  a  moment,  she  continued,  with 
growing  emphasis,  yet  still  in  the  languidly 
voluptuous  posture  to  which  the  canoe  lends 
itself  more  than  any  other  vehicle  of  motion. 
"  I've  nothing  to  explain.  This  afternoon  the 
fancy  took  me.  We've  been  out  together  so 
many  nights  in  June.  Oh,  it's  not  my  heart. 
Don't  worry.  I  haven't  one  any  longer  — 
don't  know  that  I  ever  had.  I've  taken  it  out 
and  preserved  it  —  in  alcohol  —  you  may  see  it 
some  day  —  if  you  like.  No,  not  my  heart  — 
just  nerves.  I'm  so  sick  of  it  all.  And  Dud 
ley's  the  worst  —  his  nose  —  did  you  ever  re 
flect  upon  his  nose?  Sometimes  I  see  nothing 
of  him  but  his  nose." 

"  A  canoe  coming,"  said  Porter,  with  warn 
ing  interruption. 

Margaret  kept  quiet  until  they  were  again 


232  MATTHEW  SORTER 

out  of  earshot.  Then  she  burst  forth  more  bit 
terly  than  ever.  "Always  appearances!  That's 
all  you  think  of,  isn't  it?  The  voice  of  the 
world." 

He  could  not  resist  the  obvious  answer. 
"  Wasn't  it  the  voice  of  the  world  and  appear 
ances  that  kept  you  from  accepting  me? " 

"  No,"  she  cried  with  conscious  inconsequence, 
"  it  was  your  own  folly.  You  persisted  in 
throwing  yourself  away.  Was  there  ever  any 
thing  so  perfectly  idiotic  as  this  career  of  yours? 
Even  if  you  had  the  Democracy  behind  you, 
what  could  you  do?  And  you  haven't.  There's 
Hinckley  —  he's  the  whole  thing  and  he's  bound 
to  ruin  you." 

"  Possibly  your  informant  was  a  little  preju 
diced,"  suggested  her  companion. 

"Bah!"  she  went  on.  "And  then  that 
woman.  She's  got  hold  of  you." 

"Woman?" 

"  Oh,  don't  pretend  ignorance.  I'm  not 
jealous.  That  Viola  Buckingham.  Why,  yes, 
you  wanted  an  explanation  of  my  coming  to 
night.  Say  I  came  to  warn  you  against  her. 
Will  that  do?  She's  cold;  colder  than  I  am. 
She  would  no  more  think  seriously  of  a  country 
personage  like  you  —  but  it  pleases  her  to  have 
you  dangling  after  her." 

"  Suppose  we  don't  discuss  Miss  Bucking 
ham,"  said  Porter,  in  his  most  tranquil  tone. 

"  Very  well.     I  see  she's  too  sacred." 

Margaret's  talkative  mood  seemed  to  vanish 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  233 

for  the  moment.  The  canoe  swept  along  evenly, 
quietly,  now  through  broad  open  meadows  with 
the  clear  star  canopy  spread  over  them,  now 
under  close  thickets  dipping  in  the  water,  heav 
ily  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  unseen  blossoms. 

"  Turn  back,"  she  said  at  length.  "  What  is 
the  use  of  going  further? "  Then  she  spoke 
once  more,  but  gently,  vaguely,  almost  with  a 
trace  of  tenderness  in  her  voice.  "  Oh,  Mat,  I 
sometimes  wish  it  were  to  be  done  over  again; 
but  it's  better  as  it  is.  I'm  not  good  enough  for 
you.  Would  you  ever  have  expected  Margaret 
Ferguson  to  say  that  and  mean  it?  But  I  do. 
There's  absolutely  nothing  good  in  me  except 
a  queer  little  faint  sense  of  my  own  wicked  un- 
worthiness.  That's  the  only  thing  that  makes 
me  just  a  little  better  than  the  man  I'm  going 
to  marry  to-morrow.  A  year  hence,  a  few 
months  hence,  I  shall  be  worse  than  he  is  — 
harder,  colder,  crueler.  That's  the  way  with 
women.  It's  a  great  escape  for  you,  Mat.  I 
congratulate  you.  And  already  I  can  see  well 
enough  that  you  don't  care  for  me  any  longer." 

Her  strange  tenderness  hurt  him  more  than 
her  scorn  had  done  and  he  murmured  some  word 
of  protest. 

"  Don't  talk,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  shall  get 
angry  again.  I  know  you  care  for  what  I  was 
—  not  for  what  I  am.  To-night  has  settled  it. 
To-morrow  at  that  cheerful  ceremony  we  shall 
look  at  each  other  with  strange  eyes,  like  wan 
derers  from  different  worlds.  But  I  shall  re- 


234  MATTHEW  SORTER 

member  this  little  escapade  very,  very  pleas 
antly.  So,  I  think,  will  you.  Oh,  don't  imagine 
I  shall  make  any  mystery  of  it.  I  shall  tell 
Dudley  and  my  father.  Papa  will  be  horrified. 
Dudley  will  laugh.  But  I  think  underneath 
he'll  feel  it  just  a  little,  I  hope  he  will." 

She  spoke  no  more.  Nor  did  he.  His  heart 
was  full  of  strange,  conflicting  feelings;  but  he 
could  not  utter  them,  did  not  wish  to  try. 

So  they  drifted  idly  down  the  stream,  with 
the  quiet  stars  over  them,  and,  as  it  seemed, 
great  gulfs  of  dim  futurity  yawning  on  every 
side. 

When  they  reached  the  landing,  she  stepped 
out  before  he  could  even  offer  to  assist  her,  and 
slipping  into  the  shrubbery,  was  gone,  leaving 
him  to  make  his  way  homeward  in  doubt  and 
wonder. 

The  next  day  the  wedding  took  place,  with  all 
solemnity;  and  as  she  had  said,  the  two  met  like 
wanderers  from  different  worlds,  and  looked  at 
each  other  with  strange  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE  second  week  in  June  Viola  went  to  Fal- 
mouth.  Before  her  departure  she  and  Porter 
had  another  long  talk,  in  which  she  showed 
such  exhaustive  study  not  only  of  "  Power  and 
Responsibility,"  but  of  everything  else  bearing 
on  any  aspect  of  the  subject  that  Porter  said 
to  her,  with  a  smile:  "  I  shall  have  to  begin  com 
ing  to  you  for  points.  I  don't  see  how  you 
have  done  it.  It  is  you  who  ought  to  be  the 
candidate  for  governor." 

But  she  answered  him  seriously,  with  a  very 
deep  seriousness  in  her  great  dark  eyes;  "  I  am 
an  idle  person,  you  know,  all  my  time  at  my 
own  disposal.  I  have  sat  up  nights." 

"  I  know  many  people  who  might  sit  up  many 
nights  and  not  learn  what  you  have  learned. 
But  you  look  pale.  It  is  hardly  worth  your 
overworking.  When  you  get  to  Falmouth,  let 
the  salt  wind  blow  all  the  politics  out  of  you." 

But  that  was  not  Viola's  way.  Before  she 
had  been  at  Falmouth  a  fortnight,  she  wrote  to 
Wingate  to  come  down  and  see  her.  When  he 
came,  she  handed  him  a  neatly  written  manu 
script.  "  There,"  she  said,  "  will  you  print 
that?" 

235 


236  MATTHEW  SORTER 

He  read  it  through  carefully.  It  was  a  brief, 
direct,  and  very  effective  presentation  of  Por 
ter's  fundamental  principle  as  to  the  cardinal 
importance  of  state  affairs  in  state  elections,  of 
course  with  reference  to  Porter's  candidacy  on 
that  platform.  '  Viola!  "  he  cried  in  astonish 
ment.  "  How  did  you  learn  to  do  it?  Where 
did  you  find  the  ideas  —  and  the  trick  of  wri 
ting  which  is  more  than  the  ideas?  We  haven't 
a  man  on  our  staff  who  could  have  done  it 
better." 

"  I  found  the  ideas  where  anybody  may  find 
them,"  she  said.  "  And  the  trick  of  writing  — 
You  think  it  will  do?" 

"  Do?  Of  course  it  will  do.  We'll  print  it  on 
the  editorial  page  and  an  editorial  with  it  that 
will  have  it  copied  all  over  the  state." 

"I  want  Mr.  Porter  to  see  it  first,"  Viola 
said. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well.  But  there's 
no  doubt  what  he  will  say.  I've  been  urging 
him  to  do  this  sort  of  thing  himself  and  he  would 
have  had  to  come  to  it.  But  this  is  infinitely 
better.  Only  he'll  probably  get  the  credit  of 
writing  it  anyway.  We  may  have  to  deny  that. 
Of  course  you'll  follow  it  up  with  others.  How 
will  you  sign?" 

"  '  Democrat,'  "  answered  Viola  promptly. 

"  '  Democrat! '  And  from  you,  Viola.  Here's 
a  changed  world.  Porter  must  —  "  but  Win- 
gate  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  "  You  don't 
want  Porter  to  know?  "  he  asked. 


3&ATTHEW  SORTER  237 

"  No,"  was  the  decided  response.  "  Later  he 
may,  probably  will  —  not  yet." 

Wingate  returned  to  town  and  wrote  Viola 
the  next  day  that  Porter  was  enthusiastic  and 
intensely  curious  as  to  the  authorship,  evidently 
inclining  to  suspect  Wingate  himself.  The  let 
ter  was  published  in  the  manner  agreed  upon. 
It  took  instantly,  and  was  widely  reprinted  and 
discussed.  People  had  heard  just  enough  about 
Porter,  in  stories  here  and  there,  reports  of 
speeches,  and  so  forth,  to  be  ready  to  seize  upon 
this  brief,  crisp,  snappy  statement  of  his  first 
principle  and  to  look  eagerly  for  more. 

On  the  Saturday  on  which  the  letter  appeared 
Porter  was  engaged  to  speak  at  a  great  labour 
picnic.  It  was  a  much  less  distinguished  occa 
sion  than  the  dinner  of  the  Commonweal  Club, 
but  on  the  whole  more  amusing.  And  Porter 
found  himself  no  less  at  home.  He  chatted  with 
the  boys  —  and  the  girls,  took  an  apparently 
enthusiastic  interest  in  the  various  sports  that 
went  on,  and  when  it  came  to  the  speeches,  lis 
tened  with  absorbed  attention  to  the  screaming 
tirades  of  two  or  three  Hibernian  orators  who 
bellowed  for  the  rights  of  labour,  the  ignomini 
ous  subjection  of  capital,  and  incidentally,  when 
they  had  nothing  else  to  bellow  for,  for  him. 

Then  Smith  spoke  a  few  words  of  prelude, 
to  the  effect  that  they  all  knew  Porter  was  a 
good  fellow,  but  that  he  was  more  than  that, 
when  he  said  a  thing  he  meant  it.  He  didn't 
say  one  thing  to  one  party  and  one  to  another. 


238  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

You  knew  where  to  find  him.  That  was  why 
the  speaker  believed  in  him  and  was  glad  to  in 
troduce  him  to  his  friends. 

The  hands  which  Porter  had  so  recently 
shaken  applauded  him  as  he  rose.  His  speech 
was  simple  and  direct  as  always,  less  formal, 
perhaps,  than  before  the  Commonweal  Club,  but 
no  whit  less  serious  or  less  dignified.  And  his 
audience  listened,  in  the  main,  as  attentively  as 
the  wealthier  company  had  done.  He  insisted 
first  on  the  true  Democratic  policy  of  state  in 
terests  and  independence.  However  large  the 
part  of  the  general  government  might  be  in 
matters  affecting  the  relation  of  the  states  to 
each  other,  so  long  as  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  remained  in  force,  the  most  im 
portant  affairs  of  daily  life  must  be  under  state 
control.  But  if  the  state  government  was  to 
manage  these  affairs,  it  must  be  honest,  it  must 
be  effective.  Then  he  went  on  to  dwell  upon 
the  weaknesses  of  the  present  system  and  to 
show  that  while  labour  appeared  to  be  crying 
for  this  and  that  piece  of  special  legislation  to 
remedy  existing  evils,  the  real  cause  of  uneasi 
ness  was  mistrust.  Capital  working  openly  and 
honestly  under  laws  fairly  made  was  not  the 
enemy  of  the  working  man.  He  could  not  live 
without  capital  any  more  than  capital  could  live 
without  him.  What  was  dangerous,  what  was 
ruinous  was  the  feeling  that  capital  owned  the 
government,  could  put  its  hand  in  its  pocket  and 
buy  legislation  which  would  enable  it  to  rob  the 


MATTHEW  SORTER  239 

poor  man  of  all  his  rights  and  earnings.  Then 
he  expounded  very  briefly  and  simply  his  idea 
of  a  remedy.  Let  the  governor,  or  his  ap 
pointed  officers,  appear  in  the  legislature,  as  the 
people's  representative.  Let  all  important 
measures  be  introduced  and  guided  by  the  exec 
utive,  with  free  and  public  debate,  so  that  the 
people  at  large  could  understand.  "  This  is  all 
I  ask,"  said  the  speaker  in  conclusion,  "  pub 
licity.  No  buttonholing  in  corners,  no  pulling 
and  hauling  in  dark  lobbies,  no  strangling  in 
committee-rooms.  Free,  open,  public  discussion, 
with  the  governor  in  the  lead  of  it,  a  man 
chosen  by  the  people,  directly  responsible  to  the 
people,  not  caring  a  —  hairpin  for  any  legisla 
ture  or  any  corporation.  If  we  can  get  that, 
the  state  government  of  Massachusetts  will  be 
worth  something  and  we  shall  have  the  other 
states  dropping  around  here  to  see  how  we  do 
it.  Now,  boys,  ask  questions,  if  you  want  to." 

After  the  hearty  applause  had  died  away, 
they  did  ask  questions,  some  merely  impertinent 
and  pointless,  which  Porter  turned  aside  with 
tact  and  humour,  others  acute  and  intelligent, 
to  which  he  tried  to  give  an  intelligent  answer. 

"What'll  you  do  first,  if  you're  elected?" 
shouted  one  fellow. 

Everybody  laughed  at  the  directness  of  the 
inquiry.  Porter  laughed  also.  "  I'm  not  even 
nominated  yet,"  he  said.  "  Very  likely  I  sha'n't 
be.  I'm  not  supposed  to  be  talking  about  my 
self.  But  if  I  were,  I'd  onlv  say  what  I  want 


240  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

to  get,  not  how  I  mean  to  get  it.  It  doesn't 
always  pay  a  man  to  show  his  hand,  you  know." 

Somebody  raised  the  old  cry  of  one-man 
power.  "  Well,"  answered  Porter,  "  I  believe 
I'd  about  as  soon  take  my  chance  with  one-man 
power  as  with  three-hundred-men  power.  Be 
sides  it  generally  comes  to  one-man  power  in 
the  end.  Some  of  you  have  heard  of  such  a 
thing  as  a  boss,  I  dare  say."  Laughter  and 
applause,  "  Just  so.  I  thought  you  had. 
Well,  a  boss  is  the  worst  kind  of  one-man 
power,  a  giant  in  the  dark,  knifing  and  stran 
gling  wherever  he  pleases.  They've  had  a  boss 
or  two  in  New  York.  And  I've  heard  some  talk 
of  one  nearer  home,  but  I  pray  God  there's  no 
truth  in  it.  Now  if  you  don't  want  a  boss,  give 
power  to  your  own  representative,  who  comes 
out  from  you  and  has  got  to  come  back  to  you. 
Give  him  all  the  power  he  wants;  but  for  every 
ounce  of  power  give  him  an  ounce  of  responsi 
bility.  Make  him  stand  right  up  in  public  and 
tell  you  just  what  he's  doing  and  how  he's 
doing  it.  If,  after  a  fair  trial,  you  see  he's 
working  for  himself  and  not  for  you,  you  know 
how  to  punish  him.  But  there's  that  legislature 
of  three  hundred  men,  each  working  in  the  dark 
for  the  Lord  knows  what  —  how  are  you  going 
to  do  anything  with  them?  " 

An  old  legislator,  who  had  been  at  the  State 
House  for  years  and  knew  what  went  on  there, 
but  did  not  approve  of  fads  and  notions,  asked 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  241 

how  it  would  be  possible  for  the  legislature  to 
get  through  all  its  business  if  everything  were 
publicly  debated. 

"That's  a  little  harder  one,"  was  Porter's 
prompt  reply;  "but  I'm  equal  to  it.  It  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  the  state  and  everybody 
in  it  if  the  legislature  did  about  a  quarter  of 
what  it  does  now  and  did  it  better.  For  one 
thing,  if  we  had  decent  city  government  —  and 
just  this  same  principle  will  give  it  to  us  —  the 
work  of  the  legislature  would  be  immensely 
lightened.  The  same  with  strong  executive  de 
partments.  And  of  course  the  committee  sys 
tem  would  still  be  useful,  but  merely  for  thrash 
ing  out  details." 

So  it  went  on,  with  question  and  answer,  for 
some  time,  and  when  it  was  all  over,  Porter  felt 
that  he  had  good  reason  to  be  satisfied.  Smith 
and  Rooney  congratulated  him;  and  the  latter, 
who  had  perhaps  dallied  a  little  with  the  social 
cup,  would  have  liked  to  pat  his  leader  on  the 
back,  but  did  not  quite  dare.  "  You're  it,"  he 
cried  ecstatically,  "  you're  it.  There  ain't  no 
doubt  at  all  about  it.  You've  got  the  boys 
pinched  and  that's  a  fact." 

In  the  train  returning  to  town  Hinckley,  who 
had  been  a  curious  spectator  of  the  afternoon's 
proceedings,  managed  to  seat  himself  at  Por 
ter's  side.  The  chairman  of  the  state  committee 
offered  a  few  compliments,  with  his  usual  bland, 
catlike  manner.  "  You've  got  some  good  ideas, 


242  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Mr.  Porter,"  he  said,  "  some  grand  ideas ;  but 
I  suppose  you  know  as  well  as  I  that  they  never 
could  be  made  to  work  in  practice." 

"  Do  you  know  it? "  Porter  asked,  as  bland, 
at  any  rate,  as  his  opponent  himself. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  any  one  could  have  been 
long  in  practical  politics  without  knowing  it." 

"  I  haven't  been  in  practical  politics  so  very 
long."  Perhaps  this  was  a  little  too  bland,  but 
Hinckley  didn't  mind  those  things.  He  paid 
no  attention  and  went  on  with  his  argument. 

"  Your  plan  is  to  reduce  the  power  of  the 
legislature,  isn't  it?" 

"  Something  of  that  nature." 

"  How  will  you  do  it?  By  means  of  the  legis 
lature,  of  course.  You've  got  to  amend  the 
constitution  of  the  state  and  that  has  got  to  be 
done  by  two  successive  legislatures  before  it 
comes  to  the  popular  vote.  Now  do  you  think 
two  legislatures  —  probably  Republican  at  that 

—  are  ever  going  to  vote  to  take  away  their 
own  power  —  unless  you  buy  them?  "    The  last 
phrase  was  spoken  with  a  characteristic  smile. 

Porter  smiled  back.  "  In  spite  of  my  too 
brief  experience  of  practical  politics,  that  diffi 
culty  has  occurred  to  me,  Mr.  Hinckley.  But, 
in  the  first  place,  while  my  plan  would  curtail 
the  power  of  the  legislature  as  a  body,  it  would 
give  such  increased  opportunity  for  distinction 
and  advancement  to  any  legislator  of  courage 
and  energy,  that  I  believe  plenty  of  strong  men 

—  some  Republicans,  too  —  would  be  found  to 


MATTHEW  SORTER  243 

work  for  it,  without  being  bought.  And  then 
—  there  are  other  powers  besides  the  legisla 
ture." 

"  Ah,  you  mean  the  governor?  "  Hinckley's 
tone  opened  a  great  abyss  of  pity. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  the  governor.  There's 
one  power  greater  than  the  legislature  of  Massa 
chusetts,  greater  than  the  governor  of  Massa 
chusetts:  that  is  the  people  of  Massachusetts. 
Let  the  governor  go  to  the  people  and  say, 
*  Look  here!  You  elected  me  to  do  a  certain 
thing.  Here's  a  troop  of  nobodies  who  get  in 
the  way  and  tell  me  I  sha'n't  do  it  because  it 
doesn't  suit  them.  What  about  this? '  Do  you 
think  if  a  governor  said  that  often  enough  and 
knew  how  to  say  it,  there  would  be  anything 
left  of  that  legislature  ?  " 

If  Hinckley  was  impressed,  he  didn't  say  so, 
but  smiled  his  usual  impenetrable  smile  and 
turned  the  conversation. 

Porter  accepted  the  change,  but  while  he  was 
discussing  crops  and  the  money-market,  he  said 
to  himself:  "I  know  just  where  to  find  you, 
Bob  Hinckley." 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE  natural  July  stagnation  in  politics  was 
somewhat  broken  by  the  weekly  succession  of 
Viola's  letters.  Devoting  herself  assiduously  to 
deeper  and  riper  study  of  the  subject,  communi 
cating  with  Porter  occasionally,  as  if  from  mere 
anxiety,  on  a  doubtful  point,  she  was  able  to 
develop  one  phase  after  another  of  the  new  idea 
with  a  clearness  and  effectiveness  that  astonished 
Wingate  more  than  ever  and  aroused  a  con 
stantly  increasing  interest  in  the  press  and  in 
the  public.  Her  personal  references  to  Porter 
himself  were  comparatively  insignificant;  but 
there  was  an  occasional  allusion,  as  from  one 
who  knew  the  man  well;  and  once  she  insisted, 
at  some  length,  upon  the  thorough  democracy 
of  his  ideals,  his  entire  willingness  to  recognize 
not  only  the  power,  but  the  honesty  and  the 
common  sense  of  the  people  at  large. 

"  *  Democrat! '  Who  is  '  Democrat? '  came 
the  repeated  inquiry.  But  Wingate  alone  knew 
the  secret,  and  Wingate  was  impenetrable. 
Then  began  the  guesses.  "  Porter  himself," 
insinuated  the  Republican  papers.  "  Who 
else?  "  But  to  this  the  Intelligencer  put  forth 
a  prompt,  solemn,  and  unequivocal  denial,  which 

244 


MATTHEW  SORTER  245 

could  leave  no  room  for  further  doubt.  '  Win- 
gate,  then?  "  was  the  next  suggestion.  "  Ad 
mit  it,"  wrote  Viola  to  him.  "  At  any  rate, 
don't  deny  it."  "  Thanks,"  he  wrote  back.  "  I 
should  be  proud  to  admit  it;  but  I  can't  quite 
do  that,  you  know."  Still,  the  denial  was  a 
little  less  strenuous  than  in  Porter's  case;  so 
that  the  more  sceptical  felt  themselves  at  liberty 
to  entertain  a  doubt.  And,  on  the  whole,  Win- 
gate  was  generally  felt  to  be  a  possible,  if  not 
a  likely,  claimant. 

The  Republican  press  of  course  contained 
more  or  less  comment  upon  the  letters,  for  the 
most  part  in  a  rather  contemptuous  and  a  rather 
ineffective  tone.  Some  effort  was  made  to  meet 
argument  with  argument;  but  "Democrat" 
was  quick  at  his  weapons  and  was  felt  by  im 
partial  observers  to  have  the  best  of  it.  Once 
or  twice  there  were  hints  and  insinuations  about 
Porter's  personal  surroundings.  "  A  man 
should  be  known  by  the  company  he  keeps.  A 
radical,  a  democrat,  who  wants  to  lead  and 
represent  the  people,  should  not  seek  the  society 
of  nobs  and  snobs  who  care  only  for  their  own 
class,  their  own  amusements,  -and  think  the  peo 
ple  were  created  to  provide  delicacies  and  luxu 
ries  for  others'  consumption." 

Viola  read  one  or  two  things  of  this  sort  — 
all  the  papers  were  coming  her  way  now  —  and 
wondered  and  reflected.  Porter  was  suffering 
for  his  acquaintance  with  her  —  his  acquaintance 
with  her.  These  amiable  suggestions  all  seemed 


246  MATTHEW  SORTER 

to  start  in  Republican  papers,  though  others 
occasionally  repeated  them.  His  acquaintance 
with  her  —  which  had  come  about  at  the  in 
stance  of —  A  vague  gleam  of  light  began 
to  break  in  upon  her.  Heath  had  been  so 
anxious  that  Porter  should  be  influenced,  con 
verted,  by  her.  What  if  he  should  get  the  credit 
of  being  influenced  and  converted,  even  if  the 
process  had  been  in  reality  the  other  way? 
What  if  this  had  been  in  Heath's  mind  from 
the  beginning? 

As  this  light  grew  brighter,  she  sat  down  at 
her  desk  and  wrote: 

"  DEAR  DUDLEY:  —  I  have  noticed  a  word  or 
two  in  the  papers  which  I  don't  like.  Are  you 
responsible? " 

The  next  day  she  got  an  answer: 

"  DEAR  VIOLA:  —  I  am  surprised  there  should 
be  anything  in  a  paper  you  don't  like;  still 
more,  that  you  should  suspect  me  of  anything 
to  do  with  it.  What  if  I  ran  down  to  see  you 
Thursday  afternoon  for  an  hour  or  two?  " 

Thursday  was  the  twenty-seventh  and  Viola 
had  a  royal  party  planned  for  that  day  —  all 
the  "  family "  to  come  down  Wednesday  and 
stay  till  Friday.  Still,  she  telephoned  to  Heath 
to  come. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  247 

"  I  haven't  been  here  for  so  long,"  he  said,  as 
he  drove  up.  "  How  you've  improved  it.  It's 
a  great  place." 

It  was  a  great  place.  A  huge,  rambling, 
long-gabled,  broad-piazzaed  house,  with  gar 
dens  all  about  and  stables  in  the  rear,  stood  on 
a  high  bluff  close  to  the  water.  Off  to  the  south, 
over  Hog  Island,  you  could  look  out  to  sea  — 
to  Florida,  if  your  eyes  were  good  enough. 
And  ten  miles  across  the  leaping,  dancing 
waters  of  the  bay  the  spires  of  New  Bedford 
stood  out  black  against  the  splendours  of  the 
sunset  —  when  there  was  a  sunset. 

For  on  this  afternoon  everything  was  gray. 
It  had  not  yet  begun  to  rain;  but  the  south 
wind  was  sweeping  great  masses  of  ragged 
cloud  before  it,  and  the  tide  moaned  heavily 
over  the  gray  rocks  and  the  staring  whiteness 
of  the  beach. 

"  We'll  walk  out  to  the  end  of  the  island,  if 
you  like,"  Viola  suggested.  "  We  shall  be  un 
interrupted  there." 

The  island  was  a  flat  strip  of  about  ten  acres 
just  below  the  house,  left  in  the  naked  wildness 
of  juniper  and  berry -bushes,  for  more  effective 
contrast  with  the  finished  grounds  above.  On 
the  further  side  of  it  ran  a  fringe  of  great  rocks 
where  the  angry  waters  just  now  dashed  with 
unceasing  turbulence.  Viola  made  her  way  to 
one  of  the  largest  of  these  rocks,  speaking  little 
as  she  walked,  just  a  word  or  two  on  casual 


248  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

things.  She  seated  herself  as  near  to  the 
water  as  she  could  and  pointed  Heath  to  a  con 
venient  place  beside  her. 

"Do  you  propose  to  drown  me?"  he  in 
quired,  in  mock  alarm.  "  Think  of  my  young 
wife." 

"I'd  forgotten  your  young  wife  for  the  mo 
ment.  And  I  sha'n't  try  to  drown  you,  though 
it  might  not  be  a  bad  idea."  The  words  re 
sponded  to  his  mockery;  but  her  manner  did 
not.  It  was  grave,  thoughtful,  rather  as  if  she 
were  dwelling  on  something  of  more  importance 
to  her  than  his  presence. 

But  mocking  was  his  line  of  play.  "  Is  my 
guilt  so  terrible  as  all  that?  "  he  asked. 

Then  she  spoke  out  what  she  felt;  but  she 
did  not  raise  her  voice  more  than  was  necessary 
to  overcome  the  sound  of  the  water  and  there 
was  no  anger  in  her  face  or  manner,  only  a  pro 
found  earnestness.  "  I've  seen  the  word  or  two 
in  your  papers,  Dudley  —  I  suppose  it  came 
from  you  or  your  friends  —  and  I  have  had  in 
telligence  enough  at  last  to  understand.  You 
played  on  my  vanity,  didn't  you?  Counted  on 
it  and  with  reason.  I  was  to  convert  Mr.  Por 
ter,  to  refine  and  civilize  him,  to  educate  him  out 
of  radicalism  and  demagoguism  and  what  not?  " 

"  Well,  haven't  you? "  inquired  her  cousin 
with  much  serenity. 

But  she  paid  no  attention  to  him,  only  leaned 
a  little  closer  that  he  might  hear  more  readily. 
The  strong,  warm  wind  tossed  her  hair  about 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  249 

her  forehead,  making  shadows  that  deepened  the 
lustrous  darkness  of  her  eyes.  '  That  was  the 
bait  and  I  was  fool  enough  to  swallow  it.  Little 
you  cared  about  my  converting  him." 

"  I  cared  a  great  deal,"  he  interrupted  again; 
"  but  I  admit  my  hopes  were  not  strong." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  the  conversion  would 
have  suited  you  better.  But  the  great  thing 
was  to  get  him  into  my  set  and  then  taunt  him 
with  it,  to  throw  out  all  sorts  of  aimless,  imbe 
cile  hints  and  accusations  which  would  bring  dis 
credit  on  him  and  help  you.  Now  I  see  it  is 
beginning." 

"  You  take  things  so  tragically,  my  cousin," 
was  the  cold  comment  on  this.  "  You  ought  to 
be  on  the  stage." 

"  Never  mind  where  I  ought  to  be,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  warned  in  time.  And  Mr.  Porter  will 
be.  I  shall  tell  him  to  keep  away  from  me  in 
future  —  and  my  set.  There  will  be  no  more 
ground  for  your  slanders  at  all." 

She  paused  and  drew  back  a  little,  looking 
out  over  the  rough,  gray-green  water,  while  he 
looked  at  her.  "  Do  you  know,"  he  asked  at 
length,  still  with  the  same  cynical  quiet,  "  I 
believe  that  instead  of  your  converting  Porter, 
he  has  converted  you.  What  a  man!" 

For  a  little  while  she  made  no  reply.  The 
wind  was  blowing  fresher  than  ever.  Now  and 
then  the  flying  spray  was  tossed  even  to  their 
feet.  '  Well,"  she  began  abruptly,  once  more 
turning  to  face  her  companion,  "  what  if  he 


250  MATTHEW  SORTER 

has?  I  had  always  associated  politics  with  men 
like  you.  Can  you  blame  me  for  despising 
them? " 

The  straight  thrust  made  him  shrink  slightly, 
as  if  some  bolder  wave  had  reached  his  face. 
But  she  did  not  heed  his  shrinking  and  went  on. 
"  He  is  different  enough  from  you,  Dudley,  not 
only  honest,  not  only  well-intentioned,  but  full 
of  manliness,  full  of  spirit,  full  of  energy,  full 
of  earnest  hope." 

Richard  was  himself  again  now,  however. 
"  You  crush  me,  you  crush  me,"  he  repeated. 
"  Viola,  you  know  me  too  well.  I  appear  to 
you  to  be  —  the  opposite  of  all  these  fine  things. 
But  I  don't  appear  so  to  the  public.  I've 
never  done  anything  to  be  ashamed  of  —  even 
from  your  —  present  —  Philistine  point  of 
view.  No  man  can  accuse  me  of  dishonesty. 
I've  never  been  fast  —  as  speed  goes  in  the 
world  nowadays.  I  talk  cynically  to  you,  be 
cause  you  like  it.  But  I  talk  the  other  thing 
to  the  public,  because  the  public  likes  it.  I'm 
a  swell,  to  be  sure  —  because  the  public,  my 
public,  likes  that.  But  I'm  a  popular  man,  my 
dear,  perhaps  as  much  so  as  your  new  friend 
—  for  all  his  fancies." 

She  had  looked  steadily  at  him  through  all 
this,  with  a  gaze  that  almost  disconcerted  his 
eloquent  protest.  "  Popular!  And  appear? " 
she  repeated.  "  Do  you  believe  that  Mr.  Por 
ter  thinks  of  popularity  and  appearances?  " 

"  Heavens,  Viola,  what  else  does  he  think  of? 


MATTHEW  SORTER  251 

What  else  does  any  of  us  think  of?  You  may 
peel  off  of  us  appearance  after  appearance,  like 
the  coats  off  an  onion,  and  when  you  get 
through  peeling,  what  is  there  left?" 

"  Very  little  of  you,  I  can  well  imagine. 
You  can't  even  understand  the  kernel  of  ideal 
ism  at  the  bottom  of  a  man's  soul  lighting  and 
inspiring  all  the  rest.  But  in  this  case  it  is  more 
than  a  vague  idealism.  Mr.  Porter  not  only 
believes  —  he  believes  in  something  —  which  I 
believe  in  also." 

Again  she  looked  away  at  the  waves  and  he 
looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "  Viola,  this  is 
indeed  a  conversion,"  he  cried.  "  And  this  is 
the  man  whom  you  propose  to  order  away  from 
you!" 

"If  it  is  for  his  good  —  certainly,"  she  an 
swered,  still  looking  at  the  waves,  —  "  and  for 
the  good  of  the  cause." 

"Oh,  the  cause!"  It  would  be  difficult  to 
put  more  sneer  into  a  word  than  Heath  put 
into  that.  "The  cause!  The  cause,  which 
means  beating  your  affectionate  cousin."  Then 
he  spoke  more  seriously.  "  This  is  love,  Viola, 
love,  love.  Don't  you  know  it?  " 

She  turned  on  him  now  almost  angrily. 
"Love!  What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  know 
how  old  I  am?  I  never  loved,  as  you  mean  it, 
and  never  shall.  Oh,  this  tawdry,  puling  amor 
ousness  which  people  of  your  stamp  spread  ooz- 
ily  over  all  the  simple  charm  of  life!  I  don't 
know  which  would  be  more  absurd,  for  me  to 


252  MATTHEW  SORTER 

talk  of  love  or  for  Mr.  Porter.  Love!  If  that 
was  part  of  your  ingenious  plan,  Dudley  —  a 
characteristic  part  —  there's  nothing  in  it,  noth 
ing,  and  never  will  be.  And  now,  as  it's  getting 
a  little  damp  out  here,  what  if  we  go  back  — 
that  is,  if  I've  succeeded  in  making  my  opinion 
of  you  perfectly  plain." 

He  rose  in  obedience  to  her  suggestion. 
"  Plain  is  no  word  for  it,"  he  answered.  "  It's 
as  clear  as  it  is  crushing.  I  don't  know  how 
I  shall  ever  redeem  myself.  But  you'll  allow 
me  to  stick  to  my  own  view  as  to  the  love  part 
of  it.  That  will  interest  Mrs.  Heath  so  much." 

Viola  gave  all  her  attention  to  picking  her 
way  over  the  rocks,  none  apparently  to  him. 
So,  with  little  more  talk,  they  returned  to  the 
house. 

There  Heath  resisted  every  invitation  to  re 
main  longer  than  for  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  Do  you  good  to  stay  the  night,"  Flitters 
suggested.  "  We're  immensely  gay  here, 


"'  Fleet   the  time  carelessly,  as  they  did  in  the  golden 

world  — ' 
1  Dance  and  Provencal  song  and  sunburnt  mirth.' 


So  totally  different  from  the  brazen  world  you 
live  in." 

c  Thanks,"  returned  the  eager  politician,  "  I 
might  catch  the  germ  —  it  all  sounds  so  seduc 
tive  —  and  get  snared  among  the  lotus  eaters 
for  ever." 


MATTHEW  PORTER  253 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  was  the  kind  response. 
"  You  don't  look  it." 

In  the  evening,  when  the  storm  had  burst 
outside  and  great  gusts,  sweeping  from  the 
south  and  gorged  with  rain,  shook  the  house  to 
its  foundation,  as  they  all  sat  in  the  huge,  dimly 
lighted  central  hall  about  the  fireplace,  Flitters 
said  to  Viola,  "  I  hope  you  realized  my  devoted 
sacrifice  to  courtesy  in  urging  that  cheap  polit 
ical  spoilsport  to  stay  and  mar  our  pleasure?  " 

Viola  nodded.  She  knew  their  pleasure  would 
have  been  spoiled.  She  was  sore  and  smarting 
from  that  interview  on  the  rocks.  Certainly 
politics  and  everything  connected  therewith  had 
a  seamy  side.  Her  belief  in  Porter  and  Por 
ter's  ideas  was  not  for  an  instant  shaken,  nor 
her  determination  to  work  for  them  to  the  best 
of  her  ability;  but  all  the  personal  element  was 
cheap  and  vulgar  and  offensive.  That  her  life, 
her  habits,  her  surroundings,  should  be  used  by 
such  a  creature  as  Heath,  to  ensnare  poor  inno 
cents  and  beguile  them  to  destruction!  And  she 
had  been  a  little  of  a  fool  in  it  all  —  at  the  be 
ginning  especially.  And  love!  Who  was  Dud 
ley  Heath  that  he  should  dare  to  talk  to  her 
about  love?  Thirty  years  old,  fixed  in  her 
maiden  ways,  with  a  heart  cold  as  Diana's,  re 
mote,  entrenched  from  all  such  things,  what  had 
she  to  do  with  love?  And  Porter,  too?  Just 
recovered,  if  recovered,  from  a  long-cherished 
passion  for  Margaret  Ferguson,  —  by  the  way, 
how  could  he?  —  what  sort  of  a  man  would  he 


254  MATTHEW  SORTER 

be,  if  he  were  already  in  love  with  herself?  No, 
the  association  between  them  was  merely  that 
between  friends  working  for  the  same  life-ob 
ject.  It  would  be  nothing  more,  should  be 
nothing  more,  there  could  be  no  question  of 
anything  more.  Only,  she  must  warn  him  to 
keep  away  from  her.  There  must  be  no  excuse 
for  any  of  this  newspaper  nonsense,  that  was 
clear  enough. 

Meantime,  to  her  fretted  spirit,  the  dancing 
merriment  of  the  unfretted  spirits  about  her  was 
soothing  and  diverting.  They  sang,  they  told 
stories,  they  guessed  riddles,  they  played  games, 
they  sang  again;  and  always  they  laughed,  now 
in  broad  bursts  unanimously,  now  with  little 
jets,  darting  and  sparkling  in  one  corner  or 
another,  as  some  idle  tale  was  whispered  in  an 
idle  ear.  Even  Constance  laughed,  because 
Flitters  did,  always  a  trifle  behind  the  rest,  and 
always  with  that  puzzled  look  on  her  pure  Greek 
forehead,  as  of  one  who  would  so  like  to  know 
what  the  laughter  was  all  about,  would  so  like 
to  enter  into  her  idol's  fresh  and  faunlike  world, 
if  she  only  could.  And  eager  as  her  laughter 
was  her  listening,  when  he  took  his  mandolin 
and  sang  some  scrap  of  old  ballad  or  forgotten 
love-lay,  preluding  with  light,  broken  chords  in 
vague  harmony: 

"  O  hermit  brown,  0  hermit  gray, 
Shrive  me  as  gently  as  you  may, 
Eolly  leads  the  fair  astray, 
Brown  hermit. 


&CATTHEW  'PORTER  255 

I'll  leave  the  world  when  gray  hair  thins. 
Till  then  love  reigns  and  laughter  wins.  — 
A  pleasant  world,  for  all  its  sins, 
Some  term  it." 

Viola,  watching,  perhaps  with  eyes  a  little 
fretted,  saw  Constance's  look  of  rapt  devotion 
and  was  troubled  by  it.  This  amorousness,  this 
vague,  vexatious  amorousness,  always  in  the 
way,  useless  and  tormenting!  Still,  surely  with 
Constance  there  could  be  nothing  worth  serious 
consideration.  It  was  absolutely  impossible  that 
Flitters  should  ever  care  anything  for  her  and 
she  was  too  slow,  too  dull,  too  impassive,  to 
cherish  any  feeling  that  could  cause  her  any 
serious  discomfort.  It  was  often  a  question 
with  Viola  how  far  she  was  responsible  for  the 
doings  of  her  young  people.  None  of  them, 
indeed,  was  so  very  young,  twenty -three  or  four 
perhaps  the  youngest.  All  of  them  were  sup 
posed  to  be  more  or  less  used  to  taking  care  of 
themselves.  Still,  she  was  the  head  of  the 
household,  of  the  "  family."  And  Flitters  was 
a  singular  being.  As  she  sat  quiet  in  her  great 
chair,  a  little  apart  from  the  rest,  the  world 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  more  thought- 
clouded  than  usual. 

There  was  Ruth,  too.  Ruth  was  rich  in  her 
own  right,  although  she  had  a  mother  living, 
to  whose  authority  it  is  to  be  feared  her  daugh 
ter  paid  very  little  attention.  If  Ruth  would 
marry  Wingate,  everything  would  be  so  satis 
factory.  Viola  had  even  ventured  a  word  to 


256  MATTHEW  SORTER 

her  on  the  subject,  since  she  came  to  Falmouth, 
suggesting  that,  if  she  had  any  such  intention, 
it  might  be  well  to  —  well  to  —  in  short  to  con 
fine  admiration  of  Eugene's  playing  to  more 
conventional  limits.  Ruth  adored  Viola,  but 
she  received  these  hints  very  coldly.  She  had 
no  intention  whatsoever  of  marrying  Wingate, 
she  said.  If  Viola  meant  to  insinuate  that  there 
was  anything  between  herself  and  Eugene,  it 
was  an  entire  mistake.  Eugene  was  all  spirit. 
There  was  a  spiritual,  musical  bond  between 
them  —  nothing  more.  Now,  as  Viola  watched 
the  two,  with  their  heads  close  together,  Ruth 
talking  in  her  eager  fashion,  Eugene  listening 
and  looking  as  heavy  as  always  when  separated 
from  his  violin,  she  thought  to  herself  that  these 
spiritual  bonds  were  peculiar  things.  It  oc 
curred  to  her  also  that  she  had  practically 
spoken  to  Heath  of  a  spiritual  bond  between 
herself  and  Porter  and  the  thought  did  not 
increase  her  serenity. 

There  had  come  a  moment's  lull  in  the  merri 
ment.  The  storm  without  was  fiercer  than  ever 
and  dashed  sheets  of  rain  against  the  window- 
panes.  Flitters  sat  with  his  head  leaned  for 
ward  in  his  hands,  absorbed  in  thought  —  or 
sleep. 

"Flitters!  Flitters!"  cried  Laura.  "Wake 
up.  This  is  unendurable.  Don't  keep  us  wait 
ing  while  you  concoct  your  dreary  advertise 
ments  for  Hanks's." 


MCATTHEW  PORTER  257 

"  Hanks's!  Advertisements!"  answered  a 
hollow  voice  from  the  unraised  head.  "  All 
that  is  passed  —  long,  long  ago.  It  is  better 
to  drop  those  things  before  they  drop  you.  The 
truth  is,  everything  is  passed.  Do  you  hear  that 
wind?  It  reminds  me  of  the  grave.  I'm  get 
ting  old,  old,  old.  The  fashion  of  this  world 
passeth  away." 

"Pinch  him!  Stick  pins  into  him  —  hairpins! 
Rouse  him  at  any  rate,"  urged  Flora  and  Laura 
cogether.  And  Flora  added,  "  Laughter  is  a 
fashion  that  never  passes  away.  It  is  the  only 
wear  for  you,  Flitters,  —  motley.  If  you  cast 
it  off,  as  you  have  Hanks's,  there  will  be  nothing 
left  of  you  but  a  thin  spectre,  as  intangible  and 
unprofitable  as  the  ghost  of  an  old  song." 

Flitters  sat  up  and  gazed  at  her  with  lack 
lustre  eyes.  "  The  ghost  of  an  old  song.  I 
believe  that  fits  me  exactly.  Some  day  my 
laughter  will  go  out,  like  a  candle  in  a  sudden 
wind;  and  there  will  be  nothing  left  of  me, 
nothing  —  but  the  ghost  of  an  old  song." 
There  was  a  melancholy  pause.  Then,  with  a 
sigh,  he  began,  in  a  different  tone.  "  Girls,  I 
believe  it's  time  for  me  to  marry." 

"Marry!"    echoed  the  astonished  chorus. 

"  I  said  '  marry.'  I'm  growing  old.  I  feel 
my  infirmities.  I  need  the  loving  watchfulness 
of  feminine  conventionality  to  balk  all  my  un 
seemly  propensities  and  prevent  my  slipping 
into  a  hopelessly  indecorous  senility." 


258  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Oh,  marry  then,  by  all  means,"  urged 
Laura. 

"Just  so;  but  whom?  The  difficulty  is  to 
decide." 

"  Love?  "    Laura  suggested  again. 

"Love!  My  love  is  universal,  as  all-embra 
cing  and  all-containing  as  the  sea.  Any  one  poor 
insufficient  object  would  be  lost,  drowned,  suffo 
cated  in  it.  No,  love  must  not  enter  into  it  at 
all.  Now  you  girls  —  of  course,  I  feel  that  any 
one  of  you  —  would  enter  into  my  plans  with 
ardour." 

"Of  course,"  shouted  the  chorus;  but  Con 
stance  being,  as  usual,  a  little  behind  the  rest, 
her  "  of  course  "  was  painfully  conspicuous. 

"  Just  so.  Thank  you.  And,  after  all,  how 
could  you  do  better?  I  am  of  a  sweet  disposi 
tion,  tractable,  biddable,  perfectly  indifferent  as 
to  cooking  —  only  a  little  irregular  in  my  hours. 
But,  you  see,  there  are  so  many  of  you.  I  had 
thought  —  that  if  you  drew  lots  —  it  might  en 
liven  this  dull  evening  —  and  make  it  easier 
for  me." 

"  Lots,"  repeated  the  chorus,  with  infinite 
glee ;  and  Constance  repeated  "  lots  "  softly, 
with  her  usual  look  of  bewilderment  much  in 
tensified. 

"  I  don't  understand  what  it's  all  about,"  said 
Miss  Tucker,  laughing  with  the  rest. 

"  I  do,"  added  Viola.  "  And,  George,"  she 
remonstrated,  looking  at  Constance  doubtfully, 


MATTHEW  PORTER  259 

"  sometimes  you  run  very  near  the  edge  of  good 
taste." 

"  I  love  to  run  near  the  edge  of  anything," 
was  the  prompt  reply.  "  But,  oh,  Viola,  some 
times  you  run  very  near  the  edge  of  Philistinism. 
Can't  you  leave  any  room  for  the  comedy  of 
life?  What  is  good  taste  but  the  unerring  in 
stinct  of  an  artist  —  like  me  ?  We  create  it  for 
the  rest  of  the  world.  Come  now,  I've  prepared 
everything.  Here  are  the  lots.  They  go  into 
my  hat.  Everybody  draws  something  —  verse 
or  prose  —  Viola,  too,  Miss  Tucker,  too  —  if 
she  draws  me  and  won't  take  me,  my  cake  is 
dough.  The  fortunate  one  gets  a  portrait  of 
your  humble  servant  —  by  himself  —  in  an 
adoring  attitude." 

He  turned  suddenly  to  the  fire  and  threw  in 
some  chemical  which  burned  up  in  a  ghastly 
blue  flame  and  filled  the  room  with  lurid 
shadows.  Then  he  held  the  hat  above  his  head 
and  murmured  a  monotonous  incantation  in 
gruesome  verses.  Then  he  moved  about  among 
them  like  a  spirit  in  the  blue  glare  and  each 
drew  her  lot  in  silence. 

When  the  hat  was  empty,  he  fetched  a  long 
breath  and  turned  on  the  light.  "  It's  all  over," 
he  cried.  "  My  fate  is  sealed.  No  more  sup 
pers  with  the  ballet  after  midnight,  no  more 
'  pack  your  grip  and  take  the  next  train  for 
anywhere.'  Well,  which  is  it?  " 

"  Not  I,"  cried  Laura.  "  Oh,  misery!  Mine 
is  plain  verse."  And  she  read  it. 


260  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

"  And  mine  plainer  prose,"  said  Flora. 

So  another  and  another.  But  Constance  un 
folded  hers  and  there  was  the  gentleman  him 
self,  as  he  had  said,  in  an  adoring  attitude. 

For  just  the  fraction  of  a  second  there  was 
a  troubled  pause.  Constance's  dark  cheek  and 
forehead  turned  crimson  and  Viola  looked  very 
ill  at  ease.  But  Flitters  was  beyond  disturb 
ance,  even  at  such  a  crisis.  "  Comfort  the  poor 
girl,"  he  cried,  "  comfort  her  and  congratulate 
me.  She  is  simply  stunned  at  the  sudden  in 
flux  of  fortune  —  and  so  am  I.  *  She  needs  the 
balmy  consolation  of  her  relations/  as  the  im 
mortal  George  W.  once  remarked.  Who  can  ac 
cept  such  a  windfall  in  the  orderly  current  of 
life  without  wonder  and  awe?  Come,  I'll  sing 
you  a  song  which  perfectly  expresses  the  state 
of  things." 

But  the  song  did  not  express  the  state  of 
things.  It  gently  led  in  another  direction. 
And  so  Constance's  cheeks  were  left  to  resume 
their  natural  colour  and  on  the  surface  the 
incident  was  put  aside.  Nevertheless,  a  certain 
abstraction  in  the  lady's  manner,  with  an  occa 
sional  little  start  when  her  attention  was  sud 
denly  called  towards  Flitters,  hardly  escaped  the 
notice  of  watchful  observers. 

The  next  morning  Flora  remonstrated. 
"  Flitters,  you'll  have  Constance  on  your  hands 
in  a  way  you  won't  like,  if  you  aren't  careful. 
You  don't  understand  these  passions." 

"  These  passions.     Nonsense!   You're  jealous. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  261 

Don't  you  wish  you'd  drawn  the  lot  your 
self?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  do  and  perhaps  I  don't." 

Viola's  remonstrance  was  more  serious. 
"  George,  this  is  my  house,  you  know.  That 
girl  is  getting  foolish  about  you.  What  shall 
I  do?  Will  you  be  careful?  " 

"  Sweet  cousin,  I'll  be  careful." 

But  as  they  all  left  an  hour  after,  he  had 
little  chance  to  be  anything  else. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

"  WELL,"  said  Heath,  walking  into  Wood's 
office  the  morning  after  the  little  trip  to  Fal- 
mouth,  "  it's  all  over." 

"  All  over? "  inquired  his  uncle,  only  moder 
ate  curiosity  expressed  in  his  strong,  red  fea 
tures.  "  What's  all  over?  " 

*  Viola's  all  over  —  head  and  ears  in  love 
with  Porter.  Just  as  I  told  you." 

The  uncle  chewed  his  cigar  for  an  instant, 
his  brows  contracted  ever  so  slightly.  "  I 
thought  you  said  she  wasn't  a  fool." 

"  Every  woman  is  a  fool  where  a  man  is 
concerned." 

'  Well,"  Wood  continued,  again  after  an  in 
stant's  thought  —  and  chewing,  "  of  course  it 
might  have  happened  better.  But  we  can  use 
it  all,  just  the  same.  Is  he  sweet  on  her?  " 

Heath  looked  thoroughly  cross.  "  How  am  I 
to  know?  She  didn't  say  she  was  sweet  on  him, 
said  she  wasn't;  but  I  saw  all  I  wanted  to." 

"  And  a  little  more."  Uncle  William  laughed 
his  fat,  exasperating  laugh.  "  Jealous,  aren't 
you?  But  you  can't  have  all  his  girls,  you 
know." 

"Jealous    be    hanged!"     was    the    impatient 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  263 

answer.  "  There's  more  to  it,  too.  If  she  were 
just  in  love  with  him,  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad. 
But  she's  swung  clear  round  to  his  ideas.  Be 
lieves  in  his  notions.  Think  of  it!  She's  found 
out  our  little  game  and  says  she'll  warn  him 
to  keep  away  from  her.  But  he  won't,  if  he's 
the  man  I  take  him  for." 

"  You  shouldn't  have  said  she  wasn't  a  fool, 
Dudley.  You  misjudged  her.  But  it  will  work 
for  us  all  the  same.  Let  it  go  on.  It  isn't  ripe 
yet.  We'll  drop  a  hint  about  it  occasionally, 
but  not  enough  to  scare  him.  Let  him  get  in 
with  that  crowd  thicker  and  thicker.  Then,  if 
he's  nominated,  we'll  put  it  strong  when  the 
time  comes." 

"If  he's  nominated!"  repeated  Heath,  with 
the  most  scornful  curve  of  his  scornful  mouth. 
"  Of  course  he'll  be  nominated.  Do  you  expect 
to  prevent  it?  " 

Wood  was  a  man  of  business  and  wasted  no 
energy  on  scorn.  "  I  can't  do  much  to  prevent 
it  —  nor  you.  Things  do  seem  to  be  going 
rather  his  way  just  now.  Who  writes  those 
'  Democrat '  letters,  Dudley?  Do  you  know?  " 

"  They  say,  Wingate." 

"  I  know  that's  what  they  say.  I  don't  be 
lieve  it.  He  hasn't  got  it  in  him.  They're 
good  letters  —  all  damned  foolishness,  but  they 
take.  Damned  foolishness  always  does  take, 
when  you  talk  it  right.  I  set  Walker  to  an 
swering  one  or  two  of  them;  but  I  don't  think 
it's  our  cue  to  take  too  much  notice  of  them 


264  MATTHEW  SORTER 

now.  Might  get  an  answer  in  some  Democratic 
paper.  It  would  do  more  good  there,  before 
the  nomination." 

1  You're  crazy  to  have  a  finger  in  the  nomi 
nation,  aren't  you? "  Heath  asked,  still  scorn 
ful.  "  Don't  you  know  it's  the  other  party? " 

"  Just  now  it's  the  other  party  that  counts." 

"  Don't  you  know  Porter  is  sure  of  it? " 

"  Well,"  answered  the  more  cheerful  uncle, 
"  there's  many  a  slip  between  the  lip,  especially 
Porter's  kind  of  lip,  and  the  convention.  You 
may  have  heard  of  Robert  N.  Hinckley,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  Hinckley!  Who  can  tell  where  to  find 
him?" 

"  I  can,"  Wood  replied  at  once.  '  Wherever 
Porter  isn't.  I  have  it  on  the  best  authority 
that  Hinckley  will  put  the  knife  into  Porter 
when  and  where  he  can.  After  the  nomination 
I  don't  say.  But  until  then  it's  fight." 

Heath  still  showed  very  little  enthusiasm. 
He  smoked,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and 
watched  his  uncle  curiously.  "  I  don't  believe 
in  Hinckley,"  he  said. 

"  All  right,"  returned  the  other.  "  For  ha 
ting  I  do.  And  he's  got  a  strong  grip  on  the 
machine." 

"  But,"  persisted  Heath,  "  who's  he  going  to 
put  up,  now  Burke's  gone  back  on  him  and  is 
out  for  the  lieutenant-governorship  with  Porter? 
Pretty  tame  work  I  call  that.  They  say  Hinck 
ley 's  taken  up  Dillworthy!" 


MATTHEW  SORTER  265 

"  So  he  has.  And  Dillworthy  has  more  show 
than  you  might  think.  He's  rich.  He's  strong 
in  Lawrence  and  all  the  manufacturing  towns. 
Two-thirds  of  the  women  in  the 'state  wear  his 
corsets  and  know  his  picture.  That  goes  a  long 
way,  I  can  tell  you." 

Heath  still  smoked,  but  he  showed  a  grain 
more  interest. 

"  But  it's  money  they  need,"  Wood  went  on. 
"  Dillworthy  can't  buy  all  the  delegates  and  the 
rest  of  his  crowd  are  poor.  Wingate's  been 
pulling  teeth  everywhere  for  the  other  side." 
The  would-be  boss  of  Massachusetts  took  his 
cigar  from  his  mouth,  looked  thoughtfully  at 
the  chewed  end  of  it,  then  looked  with  keen, 
half -shut  eyes  at  his  nephew,  then  said:  "Dud 
ley,  I'm  thinking  of  putting  in  some  money  on 
the  game  myself." 

Heath  sat  up  now  and  seemed  a  different 
man.  "The  devil!"  he  cried.  "That's  a 
strong  step." 

Wood  nodded. 

"  And  Hinckley,"  went  on  the  younger  man, 
"to  get  into  such  a  mix-up  with  him!  He'd 
cut  your  throat  in  a  moment,  you  know,  and  be 
glad  of  the  chance." 

'  I  know  it,"  was  the  unmoved  reply. 

"  You  must  be  awfully  afraid  of  Porter. 
That's  all  I  can  say." 

"  I  am  awfully  afraid  of  Porter.  If  I  had 
a  stronger  man  to  back  me  up,  it  would  be  dif 
ferent." 


266  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Thank  you  so  much." 

"  You  can  beat  Dill  worthy  easy;  but  if  Por 
ter  gets  that  nomination,  with  all  he  has  behind 
him,  I'm  afraid  he'll  down  you,  and  it  means 
a  lot  to  me.  Now  if  I  can  fix  things  with 
Hinckley  to  get  Porter  strangled  in  the  con 
vention,  I  believe  it's  my  play  to  do  it." 

'  Well,"  answered  Heath,  settling  back  into 
something  of  his  former  indifference,  "  I  don't 
know  but  it  means  even  more  to  you  than  it 
does  to  me.  Have  it  your  own  way.  But  it's 
a  big  risk." 

"My  God,  Dudley!"  returned  his  uncle, 
stirred  from  his  usual  control  by  the  other's 
coldness.  "  I  should  think  it  meant  as  much 
to  you  as  it  could  to  anybody.  If  I  could  put 
some  of  Porter's  fight  into  you,  it  would  be 
worth  more  than  giving  money  to  Hinckley." 

"  Fight!  "  echoed  the  nephew.  "  I  can  fight 
—  straight.  But  this  wire-pulling  —  in  the 
dark  —  you  do  it  so  much  better,  you  know. 
Do  you  want  me  to  see  Hinckley? " 

"  Nonsense !  I  don't  want  anybody  to  see  him 
yet.  It  is  a  big  risk,  as  you  say.  But  if  things 
don't  look  brighter  in  a  few  weeks,  I  shall  take 
it.  Now,  is  there  anything  else  we  can  do?  " 

Heath  reflected  a  few  moments.  "  We  can 
keep  the  newspapers  going,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  yes.    We'll  do  that  anyway." 

'  Then  there's  my  father-in-law,"  Heath 
added.  "  Porter  thinks  a  good  deal  of  him. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why.  It's  still  just  pos- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  267 

sible  that  he  might  argue  or  buy  him  off.  The 
old  gentleman's  got  rather  a  neat  way  of  put 
ting  things.  It  would  all  depend  on  whether 
Porter's  discouraged  or  not." 

Wood  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  think  Por 
ter's  a  man  to  be  discouraged,  or  scared,  or 
bought.  He  don't  know  what's  good  for  him 
self —  or  care.  Still,  it  would  be  no  harm  for 
old  Ferguson  to  try." 

As  a  consequence  old  Ferguson  did  try  a 
few  days  later.  The  substance  of  his  line  of 
argument  is  easily  indicated. 

"Mat,  there  was  a  fellow  once  by  the  name 
of  Quixote.  He  had  what  he  thought  were 
some  mighty  good  ideas,  but  they  landed  him 
in  a  mess  with  windmills." 

"  Meaning  the  Republican  party? "  sug 
gested  Porter  smiling. 

"  Not  meaning  any  party,"  answered  old 
Ferguson,  returning  the  smile,  with  his  usual 
vague  suavity.  "  Just  facts,  which  go  round 
and  round  the  same  old  way,  without  regard  to 
anybody's  ideas.  Now,  Mat,  the  truth  is,  I 
can't  bear  to  see  you  make  a  Quixote,  that  is 
a  fool,  of  yourself.  I  admired  your  father  and 
I've  liked  you  from  a  boy.  You're  up  against 
solid  facts  in  the  shape  of  Robert  N.  Hinckley. 
Don't  you  know  he's  got  the  whole  Democratic 
machine  in  his  pocket?  He  pulls  every  wire 
there  is  to  pull.  He'll  pack  that  convention 
with  delegates  who  will  work  his  way  and  you'll 
never  have  the  ghost  of  a  show  at  all.  Even 


268  MATTHEW  SORTER 

if  you  should  be  nominated,  what  can  you  do 
against  William  J.  Wood  and  all  he  has  behind 
him?  I'm  advising  you  like  a  father,  Mat.  Get 
out  while  there's  time.  There's  the  same  posi 
tion  I  spoke  of  last  winter  all  ready  for  you; 
but  it  won't  be  waiting  long.  We  don't  like  the 
man  we've  had  and  he's  got  to  go.  The  salary's 
ten  thousand." 

"  Five  last  winter,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Good!  "  returned  the  imperturbable  Fergu 
son.  "  I  see  you've  borne  it  in  mind.  Yes,  it 
was  five  then,  but  it's  ten  now.  There's  more 
pay  and  more  work." 

So  Ferguson,  at  much  greater  length  than  I 
have  cared  to  write  down.  He  was  a  somewhat 
prolix  personage. 

Porter  was  not;  and  he  closed  the  interview 
briefly.  "  It's  no  sort  of  use,  Mr.  Ferguson. 
I  appreciate  your  kindness  and  your  good  in 
tentions;  but  I'm  in  this  contest  to  stay,  in  spite 
of  Robert  N.  Hinckley,  William  J.  Wood  — 
and  the  devil,  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  so." 


CHAPTER   XXV 

HEATH'S  visit  had  caused  Viola  great  annoy 
ance.  There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  She 
had  thrown  herself  heart  and  soul,  with  all  the 
energy  of  her  eager  nature,  into  the  fight  for 
Porter's  political  ideas,  and  now  to  be  told  that 
it  was  all  a  wretched  boy  and  girl  love-affair! 
Of  course  it  was  absurd.  It  had  never  even  for 
a  moment  entered  her  head  to  consider  Porter 
as  a  possible  lover.  She  wanted  no  lovers.  She 
was  free,  impersonal,  sexless,  as  a  spirit.  And 
he  to  her  was  a  mere  political  abstraction,  to  be 
laboured  for  and  sacrificed  to,  like  many  an 
other  such  abstraction,  with  far  more  single- 
hearted  zeal  than  any  idol  of  flesh  and  blood. 
As  to  his  feeling  she  had  as  little  doubt.  He 
had  come  to  her,  as  she  knew,  smarting  from 
Margaret's  rejection,  come  to  her,  as  she  had 
come  to  him,  purely  with  abstract  interests  and 
abstract  ideas.  Yes,  Heath's  insinuations  were 
certainly  preposterous. 

Yet  they  were  none  the  less  annoying.  At 
first  she  felt  that  she  did  not  care  to  see  Porter 
in  the  flesh  ever  again.  She  would  write  her 
letters  and  go  on  fighting  for  him  as  eagerly 
as  before;  but  the  less  personal  contact  there 


270  MATTHEW  SORTER 

might  be  between  them,  the  better.  And  in 
view  of  Heath's  wretched  designs  and  low 
newspaper  paragraphs,  there  was  no  doubt  that 
such  separation  would  be  even  more  essential 
to  Porter  than  to  her.  Yet,  as  she  remembered, 
as  she  had  at  no  time  forgotten,  she  had  invited 
Porter  to  come  down  and  visit  her  for  a  day  or 
two  during  the  summer.  Well,  the  visit  had 
better  be  given  up.  It  was  a  little  awkward 
for  her  to  be  the  one  to  make  this  decision,  and, 
to  her  surprise,  she  found  that  she  did  not  wish 
to  give  the  visit  up.  There  were  so  many  points 
on  which  she  needed  further  light  which  could 
only  come  or  could  best  come  from  a  personal 
interview.  Still,  there  was  no  question  as  to 
what  ought  to  be  done.  She  would  write  to 
Porter  at  once,  reminding  him  of  her  invitation, 
but  referring  frankly  to  the  odious  newspaper 
paragraphs  and  suggesting  that  under  the  cir 
cumstances  perhaps  he  had  better  stay  away. 
Of  course  she  and  Miss  Tucker  would  be  glad  to 
see  him;  but  public  characters  could  not  always 
choose  their  associates.  She  was  in  doubt 
whether  to  mention  what  she  had  discovered  as 
to  Heath's  mischievous  design.  But  on  the 
whole  she  felt  that  she  could  not  bring  herself 
to  do  that  in  a  letter.  Time  enough  for  such 
mention  —  if  ever  —  when  they  should  meet  in 
the  autumn. 

The  letter  was  written;  and  as  might  have 
been  expected,  as  perhaps  Viola  unconsciously 
did  expect,  Porter  soon  replied,  in  a  playful 


MATTHEW  SORTER  271 

tone,  saying  that  if  she  did  not  want  to  see  him 
she  might  say  so,  but  if  she  did,  he  was  not 
going  to  allow  his  social  relations  to  be  con 
trolled  by  the  Republican  newspapers. 

What  was  to  be  done?  Now  that  Heath's 
sardonic  countenance  was  fading  in  the  back 
ground  of  time,  the  whole  thing  began  to  seem 
rather  childish.  Yes,  Porter  should  come,  come 
with  George  and  two  or  three  others,  so  that  the 
visit  might  seem  less  marked.  Then  she  would 
tell  him  the  whole  story  of  Heath  and  all  per 
taining  to  him  and  they  could  decide  on  a  per 
manent  course  of  action.  That  was  the  easiest 
way  out  of  the  difficulty. 

So,  on  a  lovely  August  afternoon,  Porter  and 
Viola  were  sailing  across  the  bay  towards  New 
Bedford,  in  a  smart  southerly  breeze.  Sailing 
was  Viola's  passion,  and  few  men  could  handle 
a  boat  better  than  she.  Her  muscle  was  almost 
as  strong  as  her  nerve.  As  for  Porter,  he  was 
essentially  a  landsman.  The  sea  sounds  and 
lights  and  odours  charmed  him,  but  pulling  a 
rope  at  need  under  instructions  was  the  limit  of 
his  powers  of  navigation. 

They  were  running  rather  near  the  wind,  and 
the  rough,  choppy  water  threatened  to  deluge 
them  with  spray,  so  that  Viola  slipped  a  rain 
coat  over  her  white  duck  dress  and  offered  her 
passenger  a  similar  protection.  When  he  had 
accepted  it,  he  sat  in  silence,  for  a  few  moments, 
watching  her.  Somehow  she  struck  him  as 
beautiful  in  a  way  he  had  not  thought  of  before, 


272  MATTHEW  SORTER 

with  a  more  feminine  charm,  in  spite  of,  or 
because  of  the  roughness  of  her  attire  and  sur 
roundings.  Her  dark  hair  tossed  and  gleamed 
in  the  wind  and  the  dazzling  sunshine.  Her  tall 
figure  swayed  to  and  fro  with  a  wonderful  free 
dom,  following  the  motion  of  the  tiller  and  of 
the  boat.  There  was  something  ample  about 
her,  something  glorious,  as  if  her  mind  and  body 
both  were  framed  in  a  nobler  mould  than  those 
of  common  men. 

She  wondered  that  he  did  not  speak,  and, 
noting  that  he  was  watching  her,  misunderstood 
the  cause.  Just  then  an  unusually  large  wave 
jarred  the  boat  and  spattered  them  with  spray. 
"Are  you  anxious?"  she  asked.  "Mistrustful 
of  my  seamanship?  It  is  only  a  bit  fresh  —  and 
the  way  we  are  heading." 

"Anxious!"  he  repeated  with  a  contented 
laugh.  "  I  hadn't  given  it  a  thought.  I  am  in 
your  hands  and  perfectly  satisfied  to  be  so." 

She  also  looked  contented  and  for  awhile  they 
swept  on  in  sunlit  silence  over  the  blue  glory, 
enraptured,  intoxicated  with  the  splendid  free 
dom  of  the  sea. 

But  Viola  had  so  many  things  to  ask.  :c  Un 
less  you  want  to  get  away  from  politics  entirely, 
tell  me  about  them,"  she  began.  "  The  news 
papers  are  so  unsatisfactory." 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  away  from  them,"  was 
the  placid  answer.  "  This  air  ought  to  purify 
even  the  discussion  of  politics." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  273 

"  You  have  been  speaking,"  she  said.  "  I 
saw  that;" 

"  Yes,  I  have  spoken  several  times,  in  the 
western  part  of  the  state.  I  shall  speak  several 
times  more;  but  of  course  speaking  will  have 
more  point  after  the  nomination,  if  I  get  it." 

"  You  must  get  it.  And  the  others,  Smith, 
Burke  —  are  they  working?  " 

"  Burke  is  doing  all  it  is  in  his  power  to  do. 
He'll  make  a  good  lieutenant-governor.  Smith 
is  a  man  and  a  hero." 

"Yet  you  don't  seem  quite  satisfied?"  She 
glanced  at  him  keenly.  "  Hinckley  perhaps?" 

"  Yes,  Hinckley  is  the  rub.  He  has  a  tre 
mendous  hold  on  the  local  machines.  Dill- 
worthy  furnishes  the  money  and  Hinckley 
knows  just  where  to  put  every  dollar.  They 
won't  be  able  to  get  a  majority  of  the  delegates 
pledged,  that  I'm  almost  sure  of.  But  neither 
shall  we,  I'm  afraid.  It  will  be  a  hard  tussle  in 
the  convention." 

Viola  made  no  reply.  The  strong  breeze  was 
hurrying  them  onward.  Here  and  there  about 
them  the  water  was  dotted  with  white  sails, 
dipping,  swaying,  now  in  light  and  now  in 
shadow,  with  swift  change,  like  the  wings  of 
soaring  seabirds. 

"Have  you  read  the  *  Democrat '  letters?" 
Porter  asked. 

She  nodded. 

"  They  have  helped  me  more  than  anything 


274  MATTHEW  SORTER 

else,  I  think,"  he  went  on.  "  They  are  reprinted 
everywhere,  almost  always  with  approval.  They 
are  just  what  I  should  have  wished  to  write  my 
self;  only  it  would  have  been  far  less  effective." 

"  The  author? "  she  inquired,  keeping  her 
eye  intent  on  a  schooner,  which  was  bearing 
directly  athwart  their  course. 

"Ah,"  he  answered.  "The  author!  I  dream 
of  him  nights.  Who  can  possibly  understand 
my  ideas  so  well?  Of  course  they  all  accused 
me  at  first;  but  Wingate  denied  it  so  decidedly 
there  was  no  more  said.  Everybody  now  de 
clares  that  Wingate  writes  them  himself;  but 
I  cannot  quite  think  so.  Then  there  is  Marston. 
But  he  denies  it  and  anyway  I  don't  believe  he 
could.  Besides,  he  is  too  ill." 

"  I  write  them,"  she  said,  quite  simply,  still 
intent  on  her  steering.  "  Of  course  I  don't 
want  you  to  tell  any  one," 

Porter  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment.  "  You 
write  them?  It's  impossible." 

"  Thank  you." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  the  irony,  but  con 
tinued  to  pour  forth  his  amazement  and  delight. 
"  Such  a  thorough  understanding  of  the  subject 
and  such  a  gift  of  lucid  exposition  and  expres 
sion!" 

:<  We'll  let  the  gift  go,  as  being  in  your  im 
agination  largely,"  she  replied.  The  schooner 
had  passed  ahead  of  them  now  and  the  course 
was  clear.  "  But  for  understanding  the  subject 
—  you  know  how  much  I've  talked  with  you. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  275 

And  that  is  nothing  to  what  I've  read  —  and 
what  I've  thought." 

He  was  still  looking  at  her  in  wonder,  only 
half -believing,  not  at  all  comprehending.  "  No 
man  has  ever  grasped  it  as  you  have  —  has  ever 
troubled  to." 

"  That's  just  it,"  she  said.  "  I  have  troubled 
to." 

"  Most  men  might  have  troubled  till  dooms 
day  without  ever  being  able  to  write  one  of 
those  letters." 

For  a  time  neither  spoke.  The  spires  and 
chimneys  of  New  Bedford  loomed  taller  in 
front  of  them,  cut  sharp  against  the  gleaming 
blue.  The  dance,  the  long  curling  roll,  of  the 
crested  waves  about  them  was  more  enchanting 
than  any  fancied  round  of  sprites  or  fays. 

*  You  wonder  at  my  silence,"  Porter  said  at 
last.  "  But  I»  can't  take  it  in.  How  does  it 
happen  that  you  —  you  are  doing  this  thing? 
What  does  it  mean?  " 

She  answered  as  quietly  and  simply  as  al 
ways:  "  It  means  that  a  woman  who  has  lived 
in  idleness  all  her  life,  receiving  and  storing  up 
richness,  who  has  perhaps,  as  you  say,  a  little 
gift,  has  at  last  found  something  to  believe  in. 
That  is  all." 

Again  silence.  This  time  it  was  Viola  who 
broke  it.  "  Unfortunately  there's  another  side 
to  the  matter." 

"How  another  side?  To  what  matter?"  he 
asked. 


276  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  To  our  acquaintance."  she  answered,  look 
ing  far  away  to  the  south  over  the  tossing  sea. 
"  Sometimes  I  think  it  would  have  been  better 
if  George  had  never  brought  you  to  us." 

At  first  he  hardly  seemed  to  follow  her.  Then 
his  face  cleared.  '  You  mean  that  nonsense  in 
the  Republican  papers  that  you  spoke  of." 

"That  — and  more  than  that."  Then  she 
told  him  briefly  what  she  had  divined  in  regard 
to  Heath's  schemes,  about  the  latter's  visit,  and 
the  substance  of  their  talk,  omitting  naturally 
Heath's  personal  insinuations. 

Porter  listened,  with  a  cloud  on  his  brow. 
When  she  had  finished,  reading,  or  thinking  she 
had  read,  in  his  face,  dismay  and  doubt,  she 
added,  "  So,  you  see,  it  will  be  better  if  you 
keep  away  from  us  in  future,  at  any  rate  till 
the  campaign  is  over." 

She  had  misunderstood  him.  "  Keep  away!  " 
he  repeated,  with  more  indignation  than  she  had 
ever  seen  in  him  before.  "  Keep  away!  I  have 
heard  of  low  devices  in  politics  and  seen  a  good 
many  of  them;  but  that  goes  a  little  beyond  my 
personal  experience.  That  is  Wood  and  Heath 
all  over.  What  a  pair!  Keep  away!  Could 
you  suppose  I  should  allow  my  friendships  to 
be  affected  by  such  preposterous  nonsense  as 
that?  They  have  hurt  themselves  a  thousand 
times  more  than  they  have  hurt  me.  One  of 
your  letters  has  done  me  more  good  than  all 
their  slander  and  trickery  can  do  harm.  But 
the  deviltry  of  it!" 


MATTHEW  SORTER  277 

She  heard  him  with  immense  satisfaction ;  but 
she  considered  herself  obliged  still  to  argue  the 
point.  "  Your  feeling  is  natural  —  to  you,"  she 
said.  "It  was  mine  at  first.  But  is  it  wise?" 

He  cut  her  off  with  absolute  decision.  "  Don't 
speak  of  it  any  more.  I  shall  do  precisely  what 
I  should  have  done  in  every  way,  if  this  had 
never  come  up.  It  is  a  good  thing  that  we 
know  it  and  understand  —  for  our  own  peace  of 
mind.  Otherwise  it  doesn't  concern  us.  We 
win  or  lose  without  regard  to  such  dirty  weap 


ons." 


He  spoke  her  inmost  heart  exactly  and  she 
was  happy.  "  Very  well,"  she  answered,  "  I 
hope  you  are  right.  I  hope  we  are  right;  for 
I  agree  with  you." 

Then  she  put  the  boat  about  and  steered  for 
home.  The  wind  was  on  the  quarter  now  and 
with  loosened  sheets  they  swept  over  the  long, 
rolling  waves,  with  that  motion  which  is  the 
freest,  the  richest,  the  most  rhythmical  in  the 
world.  There  was  less  talk  between  them  than 
before.  Their  passage  was  so  swift,  so  quiet, 
so  voluptuous,  it  tended  more  to  reverie  than 
speech.  Two  or  three  times  Viola  roused  her 
self  to  ask  light  on  some  political  point.  She 
gave  her  companion  a  brief  outline  of  the  course 
she  meant  to  follow  in  her  letters.  He  approved 
almost  entirely,  except  for  a  hint  or  suggestion 
here  or  there.  Some  few  words  were  exchanged 
also  as  to  the  past,  bits  of  reminiscence  such  as 
help  to  fill  out  one's  picture  of  a  friend  and 


278  MATTHEW  SORTER 

make  it  perfect.  Porter  said  something  of  his 
sister's  great  desire  to  meet  Viola  and  expressed 
the  hope  that  she  might  come  to  Foxbridge,  for 
a  short  visit,  at  least.  To  which  she  replied  that 
nothing  would  please  her  better.  Only,  did  he 
think — ?  Yes,  most  emphatically  he  did  think. 
But  even  these  bits  of  talk  were  vague  and 
tranquil  —  broken  by  delicious  silences,  when 
the  ear  was  charmed  by  the  plash  of  spray 
from  the  bow  and  the  long  rolling  fall  of  some 
overcrested  wave.  And  Porter  found  his  first 
impression  deepening  of  Viola's  feminine  loveli 
ness,  of  the  noble  grace  of  her  figure,  as  he  saw 
her  against  the  golden,  dazzling  splendour  of 
the  evening  sky.  Somehow  the  figure,  the  face, 
the  whole  character,  of  Margaret  Heath  kept 
crowding  into  his  memory  at  the  same  time  and 
greatly  to  Viola's  advantage.  What?  Could  he 
love  Viola?  He  had  never  thought  of  it  before, 
had  thought  that  such  love  as  his  nature  had  to 
give  was  Margaret's  and  Margaret's  only.  But 
now  Margaret  was  beginning  to  seem  pale  and 
poor  and  lifeless  beside  this  new,  splendid  nature, 
which  to-day  had  revealed  to  him  so  much  of 
itself.  Well,  one  thing  was  at  least  certain. 
Viola  might  care  for  his  politics;  but  she  was 
not  the  sort  of  woman  who  would  care  for  his, 
tir  probably  for  any  one's,  love-making.  If  she 
had  been  she  would  have  been  married  long, 
long  before  this.  So,  evidently,  the  thing  to  do 
was  to  stick  to  politics  and  politics  only.  The 
sore  memory,  not  of  Margaret  herself,  but  of  his 


MATTHEW  SORTER  279 

love,  his  passion,  his  disappointment,  would 
make  it  simple  enough  for  him  not  to  transgress 
the  limits. 

These  thoughts  were  so  absorbing  that  the 
end  of  the  voyage  came  before  he  was  aware. 
"  It  has  been  too  short,"  he  said,  "  too  short." 

Something  in  his  tone  struck  Viola  and 
brought  up  Heath's  miserable  hints  of  amoros- 
ity.  Then  she  was  angry  with  herself.  How 
easy  it  was  to  let  one's  fancy  act  in  these  love 
matters!  How  exasperating  that  that  smooth 
serpent  should  have  filled  the  Eden  of  her  im 
agination  with  such  poisonous  activity.  She 
cared  nothing  for  Porter  —  in  that  way.  Why 
suppose  that  he  cared  anything  for  her?  Six 
months  ago  he  was  in  love  with  Margaret  Fer 
guson.  Doubtless  he  was  in  love  with  her  mem 
ory  still.  Margaret  Ferguson  was  a  poor  crea 
ture.  But  love's  vagaries  —  Anyway,  it  was 
all  unprofitable.  There  were  the  "  Democrat  " 
letters  and  Hinckley  to  think  of. ,  Surely  quite 
enough. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE  Democratic  state  committee  met  on 
Thursday,  August  17th,  to  make  the  necessary 
arrangements  for  the  convention  and  the  cam 
paign.  Burke,  hot-headed  as  usual,  would  have 
liked  to  push  the  committee  to  a  test  vote  on  the 
merits  of  the  different  candidates;  but  Porter 
opposed  this  absolutely  and  Smith  supported 
him.  The  committee  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
machine,  they  urged,  and  the  machine  was 
largely  controlled  by  Hinckley.  Victory  in 
such  a  contest  would  be  doubtful  and  would  be 
worth  comparatively  little,  if  gained;  while 
defeat  might  be  very  demoralizing.  Therefore 
the  committee  performed  its  regular  functions 
with  great  tranquillity,  Hinckley  being  quite  as 
unwilling  to  force  the  fighting  as  were  his  oppo 
nents.  Thursday,  September  28th,  was  fixed 
as  the  day  for  the  convention;  and  a  few  gen 
eral  resolutions  were  passed.  That  was  all. 

A  good  deal  of  quiet  canvassing  was  done, 
however,  and  each  party  was  astonished  at  the 
strength  of  the  other. 

4  That  Hinckley,  he's  up  to  every  dirty  trick 
in  the  world,"  remarked  Smith  to  his  chief. 

280 


MATTHEW  SORTER  281 

"  I  hope  he  won't  be  too  many  for  us,"  the 
chief  answered. 

"  I  don't  think  so,  but  we've  got  to  work," 
was  the  determined  reply. 

"  We  must  have  more  money,"  said  Hinck- 
ley  to  his  candidate,  Dillworthy.  "  Porter's 
going  to  be  a  hard  man  to  beat." 

Thereupon  Dillworthy  groaned  and  unbut 
toned  his  capacious  pocket;  but  even  so,  Hinck- 
ley  doubted  whether  the  pocket  would  be  capa 
cious  enough. 

Three  or  four  days  later,  Hinckley  received 
the  following  note: 

"  MY  DEAR  HINCKLEY  :  —  I  want  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  you.  You  can  easily  understand 
that  it  might  be  as  well  for  us  not  to  be  seen 
walking  arm  in  arm  down  State  Street.  But 
I've  noticed  a  nice  piece  of  woods  back  of  your 
house  in  Salisbury.  I  may  be  running  through 
there  on  Cutler  Street  in  my  touring  car  any 
afternoon  next  week  at  any  hour.  If  I  knew 
when  I  was  likely  to  meet  you,  we  might  take 
a  little  stroll  together  and  no  one  be  the  wiser. 
What  do  you  say?  Sincerely  yours, 

"  WILLIAM  J.  WOOD." 

Hinckley  thought  the  matter  over  for  an  hour 
and  answered  as  follows: 

"  MY  DEAR  WOOD:  —  I  shall  be  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  you  mention  Thursday  about  four, 


282  MATTHEW  SORTER 

and  shall  be  glad  to  take  a  quiet  stroll  with  you. 
Leave  your  auto  and  walk  up  the  second  cart 
path  beyond  my  house.  You'll  find  me  in  two 
minutes.  Sincerely  yours, 

"  ROBERT  N.  HINCKLEY." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  on  the  Thursday  after 
noon  the  Republican  leader  and  the  Democratic 
leader  were  wandering  through  the  forest,  side 
by  side,  in  pastoral  intimacy,  Wood  having 
given  his  chauffeur  directions  to  meet  him  an 
hour  or  so  later. 

At  first  they  talked  about  Hinckley's  place, 
how  much  he  owned,  when  he  bought  it.  Did 
he  farm  much?  Cattle?  etc.,  etc. 

In  a  little  while  they  ascended  a  sharp  decliv 
ity  and  came  to  a  big  rock  from  which  they 
could  see  miles  of  country  round  about,  woods 
sparkling  in  the  August  sunlight,  cornfields,  the 
river  winding  lazily. 

'  What   if   we   sat   down? "     Hinckley   sug 
gested. 

They  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  prospect  — 
without  seeing  it. 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  politics,"  began  Wood 
abruptly. 

"  So  I  supposed,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"  It  looks  to  me  as  though  Porter  was  going 
to  win  out." 

"  Nomination  or  election? "  Hinckley  in 
quired,  as  if  really  in  uncertainty. 


MCATTHEW  PORTER  283 

"  Oh,  we'll  take  care  of  him  fast  enough,  if 
he  ever  gets  along  to  us." 

"  But  you'd  be  glad  to  have  him  taken  care 
of  before  that? " 

Wood  nodded.  He  was  a  whittler  by  nature, 
and  now  he  had  got  out  his  knife  and  was  carv 
ing  a  stick  —  neatly,  and  chewing  a  big  cigar 
at  the  same  time.  Hinckley  held  his  cigar  be 
tween  his  fingers  and  leaned  back  in  a  comfort 
able  corner  of  the  rocks,  his  dark  eyes  half- 
closed,  impenetrable. 

"  You're  in  the  fight  for  good,  I  judge? " 
Wood  went  on  at  length. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  don't  mind  admitting  that  — 
till  the  convention,  of  course." 

"Of  course,"  was  the  somewhat  absent  echo. 
"  Porter's  a  smart  young  fellow? "  added  the 
Republican,  still  absent,  or  seeming  so. 

"  Too  smart." 

"  That's  right,"  Wood  agreed,  with  much 
heartiness.  "  He'd  run  the  whole  Democratic 
party  on  the  rocks,  if  you'd  let  him." 

'  We  should  both  regret  that,  shouldn't  we?  " 
asked  Hinckley  with  his  cordial  smile. 

But  Wood  stopped  his  whittling  for  the  mo 
ment  and  took  up  the  irony  seriously.  "  Of 
course  we  should.  You  and  I  have  been 
brought  up  to  play  the  game  the  old  way  and 
it's  the  best  way,  for  us  and  for  the  country. 
If  we  let  these  young  colts  butt  in  and  kick 
over  the  traces,  it  will  ruin  everything  in  the 


284  MATTHEW  SORTER 

end,  party,  state,  country,  and  all.    It  won't  do, 
it  won't  do.     Now,  can  you  beat  Porter? " 

As  he  asked  the  square  question,  he  went  back 
to  his  whittling,  with  greater  enthusiasm  than 
ever. 

But  Hinckley  was  hardly  in  the  habit  of  giv 
ing  square  answers  to  square  questions.  "  I 
can  try,"  was  all  he  said. 

The  Republican  leader  held  up  his  stick  and 
squinted  at  it,  with  the  thoughtful  nicety  of  a 
boy  of  fourteen  engaged  in  the  same  pursuit. 
Then  he  carefully  removed  a  few  almost  im 
perceptible  excrescences.  As  he  did  so,  he  asked 
another  question.  "  I  suppose  it's  a  good  deal 
a  matter  of  money?  " 

'  Well,  of  course  money  does  enter  into  it." 

"  Of  course.  And  I've  heard  that  money 
isn't  always  plenty  in  the  Democratic  treasury." 

"  Have  you?  You  know  we  haven't  the  tariff 
milch  cow  on  our  side." 

"  Exactly.     Still,  Dillworthy  has  money." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Dillworthy  has  money  —  not 
enough.  At  any  rate,  he  won't  spend  enough." 

Wood  looked  up  thoughtfully  at  his  com 
panion,  then  turned  to  his  whittling,  with  more 
zeal  than  ever.  "  Would  twenty  thousand  help 
to  beat  Porter?  "  he  asked. 

Probably  the  chairman  had  been  expecting 
something  of  this  kind;  for  his  even  voice 
showed  neither  surprise  nor  perturbation.  "  It 
would  certainly  help  —  help  a  lot.  But  you 


MATTHEW  SORTER  285 

must  understand,  I  can't  agree  positively  to 
deliver  the  goods.  I'll  do  my  best,  because  I'm 
fighting  for  myself  as  well  as  you.  But  even 
so,  it's  a  toss-up.  Porter's  strong." 

Wood  nodded,  still  whittling.  "  I  know  all 
that.  I'll  have  to  take  the  chance." 

"  Besides,"  Hinckley  continued,  "  it's  risky 
business,  as  of  course  you  understand  —  risky 
for  you,  risky  for  me.  Every  trace  will  have 
to  be  covered." 

"I'm  a  Republican,"  Wood  answered,  look 
ing  up,  then  looking  down  again,  "  and  there 
fore  naturally  virtuous;  but  I've  been  in  poli 
tics  thirty  years  and  I  don't  think  even  the 
chairman  of  the  Democratic  state  committee 
can  teach  me  much.  There'll  be  no  checks,  no 
receipts,  no  red  tape  of  any  kind.  I've  got  the 
stuff  right  here  in  my  pocket.  I  give  it  to  you 
—  and  there's  the  end  of  it.  I  believe  it's  your 
interest  to  down  Porter  just  as  much  as  it  is 
mine  —  and  more.  That's  what  I  count  on." 

So  saying,  he  shut  his  knife  with  a  snap  and 
put  it  in  one  pocket,  while  from  another  he  drew 
a  fat  yellow  envelope  and  held  it  out  to  his 
companion. 

H-inckley  was  still  grave  and  calm;  but  he 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  looking  Wood  straight 
in  the  eye.  Then,  without  further  protest  or 
comment,  the  fat  yellow  envelope  changed 
hands. 

'  Well,"  said  Wood,  standing  up  and  shaking 


286  MATTHEW  SORTER 

himself  a  little,  "  I'm  glad  to  get  that  off  my 
mind.  If  you  think  you  need  more,  we'll  see 
what  can  be  done." 

"  No,"  Hinckley  answered,  rising  also,  "  I 
guess  that's  enough,  considering  where  it  comes 
from.  I'll  milk  Dillworthy  for  all  he's  worth, 
and  there  are  others.  If  we  don't  win  out,  it 
will  be  because  money  can't  do  it." 

As  they  walked  slowly  back,  having  trans 
acted  what  was  really  essential  of  their  business, 
they  talked  a  little  further  on  the  situation.  "  I 
suppose  Burke  goes  in  second?  "  Wood  asked. 

"  Not  with  me,"  was  the  decided  answer.  "  It 
may  be  Walker,  it  may  be  Blodgett,  not 
Burke." 

"  How  about  Maloney?  "  inquired  Wood  a 
little  later.  "  Is  he  in  it?  Will  he  swing  Bos 
ton  your  way? " 

"  Says  he  won't  meddle.  He  surely  won't  to 
help  me.  There's  no  love  lost  between  us." 

Once  more  Wood  spoke,  after  another  pause. 
"  Of  course  you've  noticed  the  kind  of  company 
Porter's  been  keeping  lately?  " 

Hinckley  gave  a  short,  sharp  look  at  his  com 
panion.  "  Yes,  I've  noticed." 

"  Something  worth  your  attention  there  per 
haps." 

"  Perhaps." 

Then  they  came  near  the  open  road  and 
parted  with  a  cordial  handshake. 

Wood  did  not  observe  any  public  change  in 
Hinckley 's  activity  as  a  result  of  this  interview, 


MATTHEW  SORTER  287 

unless  that  one  or  two  Democratic  papers  hinted 
cautiously  at  Porter's  new  social  affiliations; 
but  the  Republican  chief  was  not  at  all  dis 
turbed.  "  Hinckley's  an  old  fox,"  Wood  said 
to  Heath,  who  had  been  sceptical  about  the 
whole  transaction.  "  Newspaper  fighting  isn't 
his  line;  but  there  isn't  a  man  in  the  United 
States  who  could  put  every  dollar  of  that  money 
in  a  better  place  than  he  can,  if  he  has  a  mind 
to.  And  he  has  a  mind  to.  I'm  sure  of  that." 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

PORTER  had  had  a  good  deal  to  say  to  his 
sister  about  Viola.  At  first  Clara  had  taken 
little  interest  and  had  even  repeated  some  of 
her  original  objections.  "  Is  she  a  desirable  in 
fluence  for  you,  Mat?  I  mean,  doesn't  she  live 
in  an  idle,  luxurious,  sceptical  set,  who  will  be 
sure  to  distract  you  from  the  serious  purpose 
of  your  life?  " 

"  No,  no,"  was  the  earnest  answer.  '  You 
don't  understand  her.  It  is  true,  she  has  an 
artistic  set  about  her;  but  they're  not  idle,  some 
of  them  are  hard  workers  and  intense  believers 
in  their  own  ideals.  And  then  she's  quite  differ 
ent  from  the  others.  She's  one  of  the  most 
serious  women  I  ever  met  and  one  of  the  strong 
est  minds  —  man  or  woman.  She  so  often 
makes  me  think  of  you,  Clara.  And  she  enters 
into  my  ideas  as  no  one  but  you  has  done." 

Miss  Porter  had  never  shown  her  strength 
more  than  in  overcoming  her  instinctive  dislike 
to  the  object  of  her  brother's  admiration;  but 
she  did  overcome  it.  If  this  lady  was  really  a 
help  to  him,  she  must  be  welcomed  and  encour 
aged.  Even  if  Mat  should  love  her,  it  could  not 
be  worse  than  Margaret  Ferguson  and  might 

288 


MATTHEW  SORTER  289 

be  much  better.  Therefore  Clara  expressed  a 
great  desire  to  make  Miss  Buckingham's  ac 
quaintance,  and  when  Porter  proposed  that  she 
should  be  invited  to  pass  a  few  days  in  Fox- 
bridge,  the  suggestion  was  received  with  merely 
a  mild  protest. 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  see  her.  Only  — 
of  course,  she  is  unmarried  and  rich  —  and  you 
are  rather  prominent  just  now  —  and  in  Fox- 
bridge  people  do  talk  so." 

But  Porter  was  just  smarting  from  Viola's 
report  of  Heath's  machinations  and  was  bit 
terly  indifferent  to  anybody's  talk.  "  You  know 
I  care  nothing  for  that  sort  of  nonsense,  Clara. 
There  is  and  can  be  no  love-making  between 
Miss  Buckingham  and  me.  Her  interest  in  my 
interests  is  as  absolutely  impersonal  as  a  man's 
would  be.  I  propose  to  treat  her  just  as  if  she 


were  a  man." 


Clara  made  no  further  objection,  though  she 
said  to  herself  that  Miss  Buckingham  was  not 
a  man  and  that  Mat's  process  of  reasoning 
showed  most  clearly  that  he  was. 

A  cordial  note  was  sent  to  Falmouth,  in  which 
Miss  Porter  explained  that  she  was  very  anx 
ious  to  make  Miss  Buckingham's  acquaintance, 
but  was  not  much  in  the  habit  of  going  away 
from  home  herself.  Could  Miss  Buckingham 
be  persuaded  to  spend  a  few  days  in  a  very 
quiet  country  household  in  Foxbridge? 

Viola  read  the  note  with  pleasure,  but  she 
saw  the  difficulties  much  more  clearly  than  Por- 


290  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ter  had  done.  Villagers  would  gossip,  others 
would  gossip.  Those  wretched  insinuations  of 
Dudley's — !  Yet,  after  all,  her  spirit  reacted 
quite  as  proudly  as  had  her  friend's.  Trusting 
in  her  innocence  of  intention  and  her  natural 
dignity  she  had  lived  her  life  hitherto  as  she 
pleased.  Was  she  now,  when  she  was  working 
for  the  highest  purpose  she  had  ever  known,  to 
be  hampered  by  convention,  by  trivial  consider 
ations  of  false  propriety,  by  petty  chatter  of 
idle  tongues?  So  she  sat  down  and  wrote  Miss 
Porter  that  she  would  come  to  her  on  Saturday, 
September  10th,  and  stay  until  the  Monday 
afternoon. 

From  the  moment  of  her  arrival,  she  felt  that 
she  had  done  right.  To  understand  Porter  thor 
oughly  it  was  necessary  to  see  him  at  home. 
The  quaint,  prim,  quiet  house,  with  its  old 
fashions  and  old  furniture  —  Miss  Porter  her 
self,  quaint,  prim,  quiet,  with  the  smooth  white 
hair,  olive  face,  and  calm  brown  eyes,  a  lady  of 
ladies  in  her  unchanging  garb,  a  scholar,  too, 
a  learned  linguist,  who  had  kept  pace  with  her 
father's  deeper  studies  —  Viola  loved  it  all,  at 
once,  not  with  a  mere  collector's  curiosity,  but 
with  an  intimate,  inborn  sympathy,  although  her 
own  habits  and  breeding  belonged  to  such  a  dif 
ferent  world. 

Saturday  evening  they  all  three  chatted  to 
gether  peacefully,  in  the  long,  low-studded  par 
lour.  Politics  came  first.  Miss  Porter  was 
eager  to  learn  the  week's  progress  and  her 


MATTHEW  SORTER  291 

brother  told  readily  what  there  was  to  tell. 
Then  the  conversation  passed  to  more  general 
matters.  Viola  did  not  talk  a  great  deal,  only 
enough  to  show  that  she  was  thoroughly  con 
tented  and  at  home.  Her  chief  interest  was  in 
watching  the  brother  and  sister  together  and  in 
studying  the  marked  resemblances  in  their  char 
acters.  Miss  Porter  had  less  instinctive  sympa 
thy,  less  responsive  tact,  was  more  obtrusively 
unbending  —  in  short,  showed  the  effect  of  her 
secluded,  solitary  life;  but  every  line  of  her 
face  and  every  movement  of  her  body  declared 
the  same  firmness  of  ideal  purpose,  the  clear 
tenacity,  which  in  her  brother  was  certain,  in 
the  end,  to  force  the  way  to  success.  Viola, 
as  she  watched  her  hostess  talk  and  watched  her 
listen,  appreciated  fully  that  the  whole  devotion, 
the  whole  thought  and  zeal  and  sacrifice  of  a 
rare  and  noble  life  had  gone  into  the  education 
and  training  and  development  of  the  brother 
who  was  now  to  bring  these  gifts  into  fruition 
for  the  benefit  of  the  world  at  large.  Did  he 
appreciate  it  all?  Probably  he  did.  But 
neither  brother  nor  sister  was  prone  to  give  the 
deepest  feelings  much  expression  in  words. 

Sunday  they  all  walked  to  church  together  in 
the  warm,  quiet,  September  sunshine.  This,  too, 
was  a  pleasant  exercise  to  Viola.  Her  own 
religious  associations,  never  very  regular,  had 
been  Episcopalian  and  rather  high-church;  but 
the  congregational  service,  on  that  peaceful 
summer  morning,  with  the  windows  open  and 


292  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

the  buzz  of  the  crickets  outside,  had  something 
reserved  and  dignified  about  it  which  seemed 
to  suit  the  people  and  the  place.  Here  again 
she  found  fresh  clues  to  Porter's  character.  The 
old  stability,  the  rock-like  determination  of 
primitive  New  England,  had  come  to  him  with 
all  these  inherited  traditions  of  the  early  fathers. 

In  the  afternoon  he  took  her  to  walk  over 
the  hills  to  visit  some  of  his  childhood  haunts. 
But  it  was  impossible  that  they  should  not  talk 
politics,  for  a  time,  at  any  rate. 

"  Your  letters,"  Porter  began,  almost  as  soon 
as  they  were  alone,  "  I  cannot  get  used  to  them 
nor  get  over  my  wonder.  Each  is  better  than 
the  last.  How  do  you  manage  it?  You  must 
think  about  them  all  the  time." 

"  I  do,"  she  answered  simply.  Then  she  went 
on  to  consult  him  about  various  details.  "  But," 
she  said,  when  she  had  the  information  she 
wanted,  "  I  thought  last  night  somehow  your 
tone  did  not  sound  quite  so  confident  as  usual. 
Was  it  because  you  were  tired?" 

"  No,  no,  I'm  never  tired.  I  was  confident, 
I  am  confident,  too  confident,  perhaps.  But  —  " 

He  hesitated,  until  she  forced  him  to  go  on. 
"But?" 

"  But  —  well,  Hinckley  is  certainly  very 
strong." 

'  You  don't  think  he  will  succeed  in  carrying 
the  convention  —  for  Dillworthy?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  Smith  is  working 
hard,  Burke  is  working,  Joe  Warren  is  work- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  293 

ing,  Rooney  is  working.  No,  I  believe  we  shall 
have  it  all  as  we  want  it.  Yet  Hinckley  pulls 
so  many  wires,  he  keeps  so  quiet  with  it  all. 
You  can't  tell  where  to  find  him,  where  to  look 
for  him  even." 

"  That  sort  of  thing  wears  on  the  nerves,  of 
course,"  Viola  answered,  with  quiet  sympathy. 
"  But  we  must  not  get  discouraged.  I  believe 
with  you  that  we  shall  come  out  right  this  time. 
But  what  if  we  don't?  Can't  we  try  again? 
And  yet  again?  We  have  the  idea  with  us 
always.  It  can't  die.  Every  bit  of  work  you 
do  now  is  seed  sown  for  the  future,  even  if  this 
time  you  fail.  Courage  is  our  motto,  isn't  it? 
Courage,  courage,  always  courage !  " 

Her  voice  was  tranquil,  as  she  repeated  the 
word,  but  tranquil  with  a  firm  resonance,  an 
unfaltering  resolution,  which  was  redoubled  in 
her  dark  eyes,  as  she  looked  at  him  steadily. 
And  he  seemed  to  behold  in  her  calm,  august, 
white  figure  the  personification  of  all  his  ideals 
and  of  all  his  hopes. 

'  Yes,"  he  murmured,  "  courage,  courage ! 
If  mine  should  ever  fail  me,  I  shall  know  where 
to  come  for  it." 

Then,  for  the  time,  they  dropped  these  mat 
ters  and  were  silent  or  talked  of  things  about 
them.  First  he  took  her  to  a  round  hilltop 
whence  they  could  look  off  over  the  autumn 
landscape,  the  great  fields  of  corn  bending 
gently  in  the  wind,  the  broad  marshes  with  here 
and  there  a  red  maple  flushing  too  early,  the 


294  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

lazy,  long  glitter  of  the  river  in  the  sunlight. 
There  was  the  pond  where  as  a  boy  he  learned 
to  swim,  there  the  huge  chestnuts  which  he  pil 
laged  with  the  first  frost.  On  that  long  hill, 
half -hidden  in  the  elms,  he  used  to  coast  on 
winter  nights  under  the  moon.  Little  trivial 
bits  of  reminiscence,  but  they  meant  much  to 
him  and  so  they  meant  much  to  her.  For  every 
detail,  no  matter  how  minute,  was  helping  her 
to  understand  the  man,  and  so,  she  thought,  to 
write  the  "  Democrat "  letters  more  effectively. 

From  the  hill  he  led  her  down  to  the  river- 
bank  and  along  it  by  a  narrow  path  winding 
in  the  thicket,  till  they  came  to  a  great  rock,  one 
side  of  which  was  washed  by  the  water.  On 
top  of  it  the  shrubs  grew  closely,  making  a 
quiet  nook  where  you  could  sit  unseen  and  watch 
the  slow  current  rolling  by  perpetually  and  the 
dance  of  sunshine  and  shadow  on  the  surface 
of  the  stream.  Now  and  then  the  silence  was 
broken  by  the  swift,  dazzling  plunge  of  a  king 
fisher  or  the  splash  and  chatter  of  passing 
canoes,  many-coloured. 

As  they  sat  here,  undisturbed,  Porter  told 
his  companion  of  his  youth  —  more  intimately. 
It  was  here  that  he  used  to  come  and  think  of 
the  future,  dream  of  doing  something  in  the 
world  —  vague  dreams,  yet,  after  all,  even  then 
taking  the  shape  of  present  reality.  For  his 
dreams  were  always  of  being  a  leader  among 
men,  not  of  art,  not  of  writing  books  or  paint 
ing  pictures.  He  knew  that  some  achieved 


MATTHEW  SORTER  295 

glory  in  that  way,  but  it  meant  little  to  him. 
What  he  wanted  was  to  move  great  masses 
directly,  to  feel  them  respond  to  his  voice  and 
to  his  touch,  to  do  some  great  action  in  the 
world,  even  if  he  perished  in  the  doing  of  it- 
all  shadowy,  of  course,  all  a  boy's  romantic 
castle-building;  but  such  as  it  was  it  had  come 
to  him  here  on  this  great  rock  beside  the  stream 
he  loved,  and  he  remembered  it  as  if  it  were 
yesterday. 

Word  by  word  almost  —  absently  —  as  if  he 
were  thinking  aloud  —  he  gave  her  these  de 
tails  of  the  past,  while  she  sat  silent,  now  and 
then  breaking  off  a  twig  and  dropping  it  into 
the  dark  water  below.  Then  suddenly  he  real 
ized  that  he  was  saying  what  he  had  never  said 
to  any  one,  even  to  his  sister,  even  to  Margaret, 
and  all  at  once  he  was  aware  that  he  loved  this 
woman,  who  had  come  by  such  a  strange  de 
vice  of  fate  —  or  Heath  —  so  fully,  so  over- 
poweringly  into  his  life.  He  loved  her.  Yet 
six  months  ago  he  had  believed  he  could  never 
love  any  woman  again.  He  loved  her.  Yet 
certainly  nothing  in  the  world  was  more  im 
possible  than  that  she,  with  her  traditions,  her 
surroundings,  her  education,  her  opportunities, 
should  ever  love  him.  No,  if  he  loved  her,  he 
must  cease  loving  her.  If  he  wished  to  keep  her 
friendly  influence,  her  invaluable  sympathy,  this 
nonsense  talk  of  love  must  be  crushed  out  and 
put  away.  He  must  be  cold,  reserved,  distant, 
impersonal,  friendly,  as  man  to  man. 


296  MATTHEW  SORTER 

From  that  time  on  he  was  impersonal,  as 
man  to  man  —  or  thought  he  was.  And  what 
was  more  important,  she  thought  he  was.  For 
the  moment  she  had  taken  alarm  at  the  inti 
macy  of  his  confidences,  even  when  she  found 
them  fascinating.  Then,  when  he  deftly 
checked  the  intimacy  of  them  and  developed 
the  impersonality,  she  scolded  herself,  as  often 
before,  for  being  foolishly  sensitive  on  account 
of  Heath's  suggestions,  and  accepted  the  man 
to  man  attitude  with  joyful  restoration  of  in 
human  serenity. 

As  they  walked  homeward,  she  touched  upon 
one  phase  of  his  confessions  that  had  attracted 
her  attention.  It  was  odd  that  his  youthful 
thirst  for  glory  should  have  taken  that  special 
form;  that  success  as  an  artist,  as  a  writer 
should  have  been  so  indifferent  to  him.  She 
herself  would  have  rather  preferred  the  artist's 
triumph  of  the  two.  Did  it  not  seem  perhaps 
more  unalloyed,  more  purely  permanent? 

Possibly,  he  admitted;  but  she  must  remem 
ber  that  in  those  days  his  life  was  far  removed 
from  any  thought  or  knowledge  of  art  and 
artistic  beauty  as  concrete  things.  It  was  dif 
ferent  with  him  now.  And  he  went  on  to  say 
how  much  she  had  done  for  him  in  this  direc 
tion  also,  how  much  she  and  her  friends  had  en 
larged  his  horizon  and  his  interests;  so  that  if 
ever  there  should  come  a  lull  in  the  tumult  of 
political  activities,  he  hoped  to  concern  himself 
more  than  he  had  done  with  things  that  were 


MATTHEW  SORTER  297 

more  real  and  more  beautiful  for  being  far 
away  from  the  hurry  and  bustle  and  pettiness 
of  common  affairs.  But  in  making  this  ac 
knowledgment  he  kept  the  man  to  man  attitude 
still  before  his  eyes  and  was  so  tranquilly  dis 
tant  that  no  alloy  of  suspicion  mingled  with  her 
wide  contentment. 

In  the  evening  Porter  was  obliged  to  devote 
himself  to  his  stenographer,  so  that  Clara  and 
Viola  were  left  to  entertain  each  other.  Each 
dreaded  it  a  little;  but  each  was  well  satisfied 
with  the  result.  Clara  confided  to  her  new 
friend  all  her  long  hopes  and  patient  efforts  for 
her  brother's  success.  It  was  not  only  the  mere 
worldly  success  she  wanted,  the  brilliant  climb 
ing  from  one  round  of  the  political  ladder  to 
another,  with  no  thought  but  his  own  glory,  his 
own  advancement.  If  this  were  all,  she  had 
rather  he  abandoned  it  altogether  and  lived 
quiet,  earning  his  livelihood  and  little  more  in 
some  humble,  harmless  calling.  She  wanted 
him  to  do  good  in  the  world.  There  was  such 
need  of  it  in  politics,  with  corruption  running 
riot  everywhere  and,  as  it  seemed,  everything 
going  from  bad  to  worse.  She  could  not  help 
believing  that  he  had  the  gifts  to  do  something, 
even  if  only  a  little. 

And  Viola,  as  she  heard  the  quiet  lady's  quiet 
voice  gently  murmuring  these  hopes,  almost  as  if 
they  were  prayers,  grew  keenly  aware  of  the 
change  that  had  been  wrought  in  herself  during 
the  last  few  months.  A  short  time  ago  she  would 


298  3KATTHEW  SORTER 

have  listened  civilly  sceptical,  wondering  that  any 
grown  person  should  take  such  matters  so  seri 
ously.  Now  she  could  echo  Miss  Porter  in 
hearty  enthusiasm.  "  Oh,  yes,  he  will  succeed. 
In  the  first  place  he  has  it  in  him  to  succeed. 
He  was  born  to  lead  men,  if  ever  a  man  was. 
And  then  he  has  the  principle,  which  would  be 
nothing  without  the  gift  of  leadership,  but  with 
it  will  be  everything." 

So  the  two  exchanged  hopes  and  built  up  sym 
pathy  in  the  dim,  cool,  peaceful  parlour.  It  would 
be  idle  to  deny  that  Miss  Porter,  calm  and  self- 
contained  as  she  was,  all  the  more  perhaps 
because  she  was  calm  and  self-contained,  felt 
some  touch  of  natural  jealousy  at  this  new,  great 
influence  coming  into  her  idol's  life.  Nor  could 
it  fail  to  be  evident  that  Viola,  for  all  her  nobil 
ity  and  all  her  earnestness,  belonged  to  a  differ 
ent  world  from  that  of  Foxbridge.  But  Miss 
Porter  was  a  woman  to  crush  her  jealousy  and 
trample  on  her  prejudices,  where  love  and  duty 
willed  it.  And  when,  at  bedtime,  she  reviewed 
the  evening  and  the  past  day,  she  thought  of 
her  brother,  Viola,  and  the  future,  as  she  im 
agined  it,  with  tranquil  affection  and  even  with 
joy. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

ABOUT  a  week  before  the  convention  Porter 
was  astonished  to  see  Flitters  walk  into  the 
office.  During  the  last  month  or  two  that  gen 
tleman  had  manifested  an  interest  in  politics 
which  his  best  friends  had  been  unable  to  under 
stand.  He  had  remained  in  town  almost  con 
tinuously,  had  sought  the  company  of  Smith, 
Rooney,  and  even  some  of  Hinckley's  followers 
whom  he  knew,  as  he  knew  every  one,  had 
talked  little  —  for  him  —  and  apparently  lis 
tened  a  great  deal.  Now  it  appeared  that  he 
had  something  to  say  to  Porter. 

"  Good  morning,  Buckingham,"  began  the  lat 
ter,  with  cheerfulness.  "  Anything  in  my  line 
to-day? " 

"  Make  it  Flitters,"  the  other  answered, 
without  a  trace  of  gaiety  in  the  quiet  eyes. 
"  That's  what  I  am.  Porter,"  he  went  on,  de 
clining  an  invitation  to  sit  down,  and  moving 
slowly  about,  his  straw  hat  pushed  back  on  his 
head,  with  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  "  Porter, 
you  think  I'm  a  fool." 

Polite  gesture  of  denegation  from  the  other 
side. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do.    And  I  am.    And  I'll  tell 

299 


300  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

you  why.  Because  I  spend  on  trifles  —  that  is 
to  say,  matters  that  don't  concern  me  —  thought 
and  wit  and  effort  that  would  make  me  a  great 
man,  if  I  spent  them  on  myself.  Do  you  sup 
pose,  just  for  the  sake  of  making  Flitters  gov 
ernor,  I  would  watch  and  harken  and  ferret 
round  as  I  have  been  doing  the  last  month  for 
you?  The  empire  of  the  world  wouldn't  tempt 
me.  That's  what  I  call  being  a  real  fool,  a 
Shakespearean  fool,  toiling  and  sweating  like 
a  slave  over  soap-bubbles  and  taking  no  thought 
for  what  the  wise  call  the  serious  affairs  of  life." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  greatly  obliged  to  you,"  Por 
ter  said,  once  more  suggesting  a  chair,  which 
was  again  declined. 

"  Obliged?  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it? 
My  point  is  just  this.  You  haven't  been  getting 
ahead  the  last  month  as  you  ought.  There's 
been  lots  of  talk  about  you  in  the  papers.  The 
whole  state  is  interested  in  the  fight.  But  we 
can  all  see  that  the  caucuses  aren't  sending  you 
nearly  so  many  pledged  delegates  as  we  ex 
pected;  at  any  rate,  as  we  should  like.  Why? 
I've  been  after  that  why,  and  I've  found  it. 
Porter,"  —  here  he  spoke  a  little  more  slowly, 
but  in  the  same  light  and  casual  manner  — 
"  that  fellow  Warren  has  sold  you  out  to  Hinck- 
ley.  I've  followed  the  thing  up  and  there  can't 
be  a  doubt.  All  your  leakage  has  come  in  his 
department.  I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  have  told  you 
earlier  and  sorry  I  can't  give  you  proofs  now. 
You'll  have  to  find  those  for  yourself.  But  you 


MATTHEW  SORTER  301 

can  take  a  fool's  word  for  the  fact.  Good 
morning." 

He  was  outside  the  closed  door  and  gone 
before  Porter  had  a  chance  to  think.  Warren 
false?  Warren?  His  old  school  fellow?  Who 
had  followed  his  fortunes  steadily  through 
everything?  Impossible!  Better  evidence  would 
be  needed  than  the  word  of  a  fool.  Yet  it  was 
true  that  Warren's  work  had  shown  very  little 
result.  He  and  Smith  had  divided  the  state 
between  them  for  general  canvassing  of  com 
mittees,  delegates,  etc.,  leaving  the  city  to 
Rooney,  and  Smith  had  undoubtedly  accom 
plished  far  more  than  his  partner.  But  War- 
reri  had  been  always  ready  with  reasons.  It 
could  not  be.  It  could  not  be. 

By  and  by  Smith  came  in  and  Porter  at  once 
told  him  what  Flitters  had  said  and  asked  what 
it  could  mean.  Smith  was  no  great  friend  of 
Warren;  but  Porter  knew  that  the  labour  man 
would  not  accuse  anybody  without  grounds. 

Smith  took  his  time  about  answering. 
"  Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  can't  prove  any 
thing,  so  I've  kept  still.  I  knew  Warren  was 
an  old  follower  of  yours  and  you  trusted  him. 
I  did  my  work  and  let  him  do  his;  but  between 
you  and  me  I  don't  think  much  of  the  way  he's 
done  it.  If  Buckingham  hasn't  told  you  the 
real  explanation,  I  can't  guess  at  any  other." 

This  was  a  serious  state  of  affairs.  "  I'm 
sorry  you  couldn't  have  told  me  before,"  said 
Porter,  after  some  thought;  "but  it  was  nat- 


302  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ural.  I  ought  to  have  used  my  own  eyes.  But 
Joe!  I  trusted  Joe.  Well,  we've  got  to  look 
into  things  now  —  hard." 

During  that  day  and  the  next  and  the  next 
they  did  look  into  things.  And  Monday  morn 
ing —  the  convention  was  to  meet  on  Thursday 

—  Porter  telephoned  to  Warren  to  be  at  the 
office  early. 

They  greeted  each  other  as  cordially  as  usual, 
though  Porter  imagined  he  saw  something  not 
quite  usual  in  his  follower's  long,  stolid,  impene 
trable  face. 

"  Joe,"  he  began  at  once,  in  a  voice  very  quiet, 
but  very  even  and  steady,  "  they  tell  me  that 
you've  lost  your  interest  in  the  campaign  and  in 
me,  that  you've  sold  out  to  Hinckley  and  done 
what  you  could  to  ruin  me.  How  is  it? " 

Joe  kept  his  countenance  stolid  still,  in  spite 
of  the  keen  eyes  that  were  never  off  it.  "  It's 
a  damned  lie,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  that  Smith 
was  bound  to  make  trouble." 

Porter's  tone  was  exactly  the  same,  as  he  con 
tinued.  "  This  did  not  come  to  me  from  Smith 

—  came  from  somebody  else  altogether.     And 
it  isn't  a  damned  lie.    I've  looked  into  it  enough 
now  to  know  that,  whatever  the  cause,  you've 
been  neglecting  your  work,  left  things  to  other 
men   who    didn't   do   them,    drunk,    and    spent 
money,   and  let  me  and  my  affairs  go  to  the 
devil.     I  trusted  you,  Joe." 

Joe's  countenance  apparently  would  not  sup 
port  him  any  longer.  He  got  up,  thrust  his 


MATTHEW  SORTER  303 

hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  walked  to  the  win 
dow,  and  stood  looking  out  with  his  back  to  his 
chief.  "  You  didn't  trust  me,"  he  answered. 
"  You  threw  me  over.  Do  you  suppose  any 
man  will  take  such  a  raking  as  I  got  about  that 
Burke  business?  Do  you  suppose  any  man 
wants  to  be  kept  for  the  dirty  work  and  nothing 
else?  Do  you  suppose  any  man  will  see  a  feller 
like  that  Smith  put  over  his  head  and  made 
boss?  I  want  to  get  ahead,  too.  I'm  looking 
out  for  number  one  just  as  you  are." 

Porter  had  rarely  heard  so  many  words  from 
that  source,  never  so  many  spoken  with  such 
feeling.  For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence. 
Warren  continued  to  gaze  from  the  window,  his 
back  immovable.  Porter  sat  quiet  in  his  chair, 
looking  at  vacancy.  Finally  he  rose,  walked 
over,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder 
—  gently. 

"  Joe,"  he  said.  Joe  started  at  the  tone,  as 
well  he  might.  "  Joe,  I'm  sorry.  I  guess  I've 
neglected  my  old  friends.  I  understand  it  all 
now.  That's  what  bothered  me.  I  couldn't  un 
derstand.  You  remembered  the  days  when  we 
were  boys  together.  You  could  swim  better, 
and  climb  better,  and  play  ball  better.  And 
for  so  many  years  we  went  on  side  by  side. 
And  then  it  began  to  seem  to  you  that  I  was 
doing  all  the  climbing.  And  you  thought  I 
had  forgotten  about  those  old  times.  Heaven 
knows  I  hadn't;  but  you  thought  so,  and 
thought  I  was  ready  to  drop  you  for  anybody 


304  MATTHEW  SORTER 

else  who  would  help  me.  And  you  felt  sore. 
And  things  looked  pretty  cold.  And  you 
thought  if  I  had  so  many  others  to  help,  I 
didn't  need  you.  And  one  particularly  bad  day 
the  devil  came  along.  I  guess  I've  sized  it  up 
pretty  well,  Joe,  haven't  I  ?  " 

Warren's  right  hand  came  out  of  his  pocket 
now  and  found  his  friend's.  "  I  haven't  had  a 
quiet  minute  since,"  was  all  he  said. 

"  Well,"  answered  Porter,  with  infinite  sweet 
cheerfulness,  "  we  won't  have  another  word 
about  it.  It's  all  over." 

"  All  over?  And  you  sold  out  for  good?  But 
I'll  do  what  I  can,  Mat,  still.  I'll  work.  God, 
how  I'll  work!  I'll  send  Hinckley  back  the 
money." 

"  No,"  said  the  chief  thoughtfully.  "  I  don't 
think  that  will  be  the  best  way.  You  shall  work. 
But  not  just  now.  I've  got  some  ideas  in  my 
head.  But  I  think,  Joe,  the  best  thing  for  you 
will  be  to  clear  out  for  a  week  —  right  off  — 
to-night  —  Nova  Scotia,  say.  We'll  pass  the 
word  that  you're  sick  and  let  your  people  report 
direct  to  me.  When  you  come  back,  I'll  give 
you  work  enough,  if  there's  work  for  anybody." 

"  I'll  do  just  what  you  want,"  was  the  hum 
ble  answer.  "  I'd  rather  stay,  though." 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  best.  But,  Joe, 
before  you  leave,  you  might  give  me  any  hints 
that  may  be  useful.  Of  course  the  caucuses  are 
over  and  our  work  will  have  to  be  done  mainly 
on  the  unpledged  delegates.  You  must  know 


MATTHEW  SORTER  305 

where  they  stand,  most  of  them,  in  your  dis 
tricts.  How  was  it  anyway?  Did  you  agree 
to  hand  over  so  many  votes? " 

"  Never.     I  wouldn't  do  that." 

"  Or  couldn't?  "  The  kindly  smile  that  ac 
companied  this  showed  —  and  was  meant  to 
show  —  that  the  speaker  was  not  taken  in,  in 
spite  of  his  generosity.  "  But  I  understand. 
You  just  agreed  to  let  things  slide.  Well,  now 
if  you've  got  any  pointers  to  give  us  —  " 

Warren  sat  down  at  the  desk,  looked  over 
his  note  -  books,  and  made  out  a  number  of 
memoranda,  giving  explanations  with  them. 
"There,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished,  "I 
guess  that'll  help  you  some.  But,  oh,  Mr.  Por 
ter,"  he  added,  with  an  extraordinary  intensity 
of  pleading  in  his  hoarse  voice,  "  won't  you  let 
me  stay?  There's  lots  I  can  attend  to  that  no 
body  else  can." 

Porter's  answer  was  gentle,  but  absolutely 
unyielding.  "  It  won't  do,  Joe,  this  time.  We 
shall  have  to  get  along  without  you.  There'll 
be  enough  work  later  —  I  hope.  And  I'll  give 
you  all  you  want.  Good-bye." 

Warren  shook  the  hand  that  was  held  out  to 
him  —  wrung  it,  and  left  without  another  word. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

DURING  the  few  days  that  remained  Porter 
and  his  lieutenants  did  what  they  could  to  make 
up  for  Warren's  treachery.  Doubtful  delegates 
were  interviewed,  reasoned  with,  influenced  by 
every  legitimate  method,  perhaps  by  some  that 
were  shady,  though,  if  this  was  the  case,  Porter 
knew  nothing  of  it.  "  Democrat  "  published  an 
extra  letter  on  Tuesday,  giving  a  general  sum 
mary  of  Porter's  standpoint,  hinting  vaguely  at 
unscrupulous  means  of  opposition,  and  urging 
every  delegate  to  do  his  duty  by  the  state  and 
the  party  as  a  whole,  without  regard  to  the 
scKemes  of  politicians. 

Hinckley  cared  nothing  for  "  Democrat "  let 
ters,  however,  had  no  scruples,  and  did  have 
money.  And  he  used  it  —  very  quietly  and  ef 
fectively.  So  that  when  Porter,  Smith,  Burke, 
and  Rooney  came  to  review  the  situation 
Wednesday  evening,  although  they  were  hope 
ful,  they  were  far  from  confident. 

"  The  papers  have  been  sizing  it  up  for  a 
week,"  said  Smith.  "  And  I  guess  they've  sized 
it  up  as  well  as  we  can.  We've  got  a  good  third 
of  the  delegates  instructed.  Of  those  that  are 
floating  there'll  be  a  good  many  for  us  —  a  hun 
dred  anyway,  that  I'm  sure  of." 

306 


MATTHEW  SORTER  307 

"More,"  insisted  Rooney.  "There's  more. 
There's  over  a  hundred." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  enough  —  sure.  You  ad 
mit  that,  don't  you?  "  was  Smith's  dry  com 
ment. 

"  No,"  agreed  Rooney,  shaking  his  head. 
"  There  ain't  enough  —  sure." 

"But,"  put  in  Burke,  "  Hinckley's  a  good 
deal  less  sure  of  it  than  we  are." 

"That's  so,"  said  Rooney.  "He  ain't  sure 
of  it  at  all.  There's  a  good  deal  less  than  a 
third  pledged  to  Dillworthy." 

But  Smith  again  interposed  his  Jonah  warn 
ing.  "  It  ain't  what's  pledged.  Hinckley's 
worked  night  and  day  and  spent  money  like 
water.  I  don't  know  just  what  he's  got  up  his 
sleeve  —  nor  you  don't." 

Some  little  controversy  followed  as  to  this 
delegate  and  that.  Lists  were  produced  and 
gone  over  eagerly  and  Warren's  name  was 
once  or  twice  mentioned  in  uncomplimentary 
fashion. 

Meantime  Porter  sat  quietly,  watching  his 
counsellors,  but  taking  little  part  in  the  discus 
sion.  At  length,  when  they  had  made  their 
count  and  readjusted  it  and  readjusted  it  again, 
he  spoke.  "  Boys,  I've  got  an  idea  that  I 
haven't  mentioned  yet.  I  don't  know  how  you'll 
like  it." 

They  looked  at  him  in  wondering  expectation. 
"  Bully  for  the  guvnor's  idea,"  said  Rooney. 


308  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  I'm  going  to  talk  to  that  convention,"  Por 
ter  went  on. 

At  first  none  of  them  caught  his  point. 
'Talk  to  the  convention?"  repeated  Burke. 
"  It's  never  been  done  that  I  know  of." 

But  when  Smith  had  grasped  the  idea,  he 
seemed  to  like  it.  "  Because  it  never  has  been 
done  is  no  reason  why  it  shouldn't  be.  There's 
never  been  a  candidate  before  that  had  anything 
to  say.  Go  ahead.  I'm  with  you.  Of  course, 
you  mean  after  your  name  has  been  proposed?  " 

'  Yes,"  said  Porter.  And  he  explained  just 
what  his  plan  was  and  gave  them  the  outline 
of  his  speech. 

'  You're  the  man  to  do  it,"  cried  Rooney, 
with  rubicund  ecstasy.  "  I  bet  it  knocks  Hinck- 
ley  silly." 

Even  Burke  agreed,  'when  he  had  thought  it 
over.  "  It's  bold,"  he  remarked,  "  and  you  can't 
be  sure  how  it'll  work.  But  it's  our  line  to  be 
bold.  Hinckley's  been  running  things  the  old, 
old  way,  and  if  we  want  to  beat  him,  we  must 
work  something  different.  We  don't  need  many 
votes  and  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  a  bit  if  your 
talk  got  what  we  need." 

Thursday  morning  came  and  the  convention 
met.  Smith  and  Hinckley,  with  a  few  followers 
on  each  side,  had  had  a  long  conference  the  day 
before  to  arrange  preliminaries  as  to  temporary 
chairmanship,  appointment  of  committees,  plat 
form,  etc.  Each  side  expected  trouble,  but  each 
side  was  anxious  to  avoid  it  and  made  conces- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  309 

sions.  An  impartial  chairman  was  agreed  upon 
and  Smith  expressed  himself  willing  to  accept 
a  general  platform  urging  reciprocity,  strict 
control  of  corporations,  and  all  the  old  stand- 
bys.  This  was  Porter's  policy  and  Smith  had 
demurred  in  the  beginning.  "  How  can  you 
make  your  fight  on  those  chestnuts? "  "  I 
sha'n't,"  Porter  answered.  "  I  carry  my  plat 
form  in  my  pocket  and  shall  pull  it  out  when 
I  need  it.  But  the  chestnuts  won't  do  any  harm. 
We'd  better  not  have  any  row,  till  we  come  to 
the  actual  nomination." 

Only  one  point  Smith,  by  his  chief's  direc 
tions,  did  insist  on,  a  resolution  in  favour  of 
abolishing  the  governor's  council.  Hinckley  at 
first  objected,  but  wrhen  he  found  that  the  plank 
was  based  on  quotations  from  that  Democratic 
idol,  William  E.  Russell,  he  gave  in.  "  It  won't 
hurt  anyway,"  he  said  to  one  of  his  protesting 
supporters.  "  It's  all  academic,  if  you  only 
knew  what  that  means," 

As  a  result  of  this  very  harmonious  confer 
ence  the  convention  opened  as  smoothly  as  pos 
sible.  Hinckley  called  the  assembly  to  order, 
the  temporary  chairman  was  elected  by  accla 
mation,  the  committees  on  credentials,  on  reso 
lutions,  etc.,  were  duly  appointed,  and  the  re 
cess  necessary  before  permanent  organization 
was  taken.  During  this  interval  a  last  attempt 
to  convert  doubtful  delegates  was  made  by  both 
sides;  but  it  cannot  be  said  that  the  result  was 
perfectly  satisfactory  to  either.  Unquestion- 


310  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ably  Porter's  personal  popularity  was  far 
greater  than  his  adversary's;  but  there  were 
other  considerations  besides  personal  popularity. 

When  the  delegates  reassembled,  the  tem 
porary  chairman  was  made  permanent  and  the 
real  business  of  the  day  began.  No  trouble  oc 
curred  over  the  platform.  All  sides  were  ready 
to  shout  for  safe  platitudes,  as  usual.  The  aboli 
tion  of  the  council  meant  nothing  whatsoever  to 
nine-tenths  of  those  present;  but  the  name  of 
William  E.  Russell  was  received  with  ultra- 
Democratic  vociferocity. 

Then  the  nominations.  Wingate,  though  he 
rarely  meddled  in  active  politics,  had  got  him 
self  made  a  delegate  with  the  express  object  of 
presenting  Porter's  name  to  the  convention.  As 
the  reputed  author  of  the  "  Democrat "  letters 
he  was  received  with  enthusiasm  by  at  least  part 
of  the  delegates,  and  his  vigorous,  straightfor 
ward,  energetic  speech  was  listened  to  with  in 
terest,  while  Porter's  name  was  received  as 
warmly  as  his  most  ardent  admirer  could  have 
wished. 

One  of  Hinckley's  followers  then  nominated 
Dillworthy,  making  a  skilful  plea  for  old  Demo 
cratic  habits  and  traditions  and  urging  the  dan 
ger  of  sacrificing  party  principles  to  visionary 
notions  and  fads  which  could  not  be  carried  out 
in  practice.  Porter  was  not  named  nor  even 
personally  hinted  at;  but  the  speech  was  well 
planned  and  it  told. 

"  Now  is  your  chance,"  said  Burke  to  Porter, 


MATTHEW  SORTER  311 

as  they  waited  in  a  convenient  private  ante 
room,  where  they  could  see  and  hear,  without 
being  heard  or  seen.  "  Now's  your  chance.  Go 
in  and  win." 

But  at  this  critical  point  Hinckley  sprang  a 
little  surprise..  After  the  presentation  of  Dill- 
worthy's  name,  the  chairman  made  the  appro 
priate  formal  pause  to  give  opportunity  for 
other  nominations,  although  neither  he  nor  the 
greater  number  of  those  present  dreamed  that 
any  would  be  forthcoming.  There  was  one, 
however.  A  well-known  and  much  respected 
Methodist  minister  rose  to  present  the  name  of 
Honourable  Henry  F.  Stebbins. 

"The  devil!"  cried  Burke.  "What  does 
this  mean? " 

"  Just  one  of  Hinckley's  moves,  and  a  sharp 
one,"  was  Porter's  calm  answer.  "  He's  done 
it  to  draw  from  us  on  the  first  ballot,  thinking 
that  after  that  he  can  make  sure  of  some  of  our 
pledged  delegates  for  Dillworthy.  I  suspected 
that  he  was  holding  something  back;  but  so 
am  I." 

Stebbins  was  a  well-known  Bostonian,  who 
had  been  several  times  member  of  congress,  was 
wealthy  and  popular,  and  had  been  often  men 
tioned  for  governor,  but  was  understood  to  have 
declined  positively.  This,  the  Methodist  clergy 
man  explained,  was  a  mistake;  or,  at  any  rate, 
Mr.  Stebbins  had  changed  his  mind,  yielding 
to  the  arguments  of  his  friends  who  pointed  out 
that  in  the  present  somewhat  strained  condition 


312  MATTHEW  SORTER 

of  affairs  the  appearance  of  an  acceptable  third 
candidate  might  settle  all  difficulties.  The  ap 
plause  which  greeted  Stebbins's  name  showed 
that  Hinckley's  device  was  ingenious. 

Once  more  the  chairman  made  his  official 
pause  preliminary  to  ordering  the  ballot;  and 
as  he  waited,  there  appeared  upon  the  platform 
the  quiet  figure  of  Porter,  asking  permission  to 
address  the  assembly.  It  was  a  second  or  two 
before  even  the  Porterites  who  were  not  in  the 
secret  recognized  their  chieftain  and  greeted  him 
with  a  tumult  of  enthusiasm.  It  was  several 
seconds  before  the  amazed  Hinckley  could  pass 
the  word  to  drown  out  this  unjustifiable  intruder, 
and  then  it  was  too  late.  The  chairman  had 
accorded  his  recognition,  the  audience  had  es 
tablished  a  friendly  relation  with  the  speaker, 
and  Porter,  standing  with  his  hand  uplifted  for 
silence,  had  acquired  that  magnetic  control 
against  which  it  is  so  difficult  for  even  a  well- 
organized  opposition  to  contend. 

I  cannot  give  his  manner,  his  simple,  intense 
earnestness,  so  different  from  the  empty  rhetoric 
which  had  been  heard  before;  therefore  I  do 
not  attempt  to  give  the  whole  of  his  speech. 
The  platform,  he  said,  was  well  enough,  harm 
less  generalities;  but  he  thought  this  was  a  state 
convention;  and  he  saw  nothing  in  the  plat 
form,  except  the  council  plank,  which  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  state.  It  all  sounded  like 
the  work  of  men  who  were  looking  to  Wash 
ington  for  their  ideas  and  for  their  future.  For 


MATTHEW  SORTER  313 

himself,  he  was  looking  to  Massachusetts.  The 
government  in  Massachusetts  at  present  was 
better  than  that  of  many  states,  but  they  all 
knew  that  a  man  might  spend  a  long  day  count 
ing  up  the  things  that  might  be  done  to  im 
prove  it.  He  believed  that  those  things  might 
be  done  by  the  governor,  should  at  any  rate  be 
urged  onward  by  the  governor.  The  governor 
was  the  only  man  who  could  represent  Massa 
chusetts  as  a  whole,  while  every  legislator  repre 
sented  only  the  district  he  came  from.  The 
governor  should  come  from  the  people  and 
speak  for  the  people.  For  everything  he  did 
he  should  be  directly  responsible  to  the  people. 
Then,  leaving  these  abstract  considerations, 
the  speaker  took  a  more  personal  tone  and  the 
ringing  clearness  of  his  voice  filled  every  corner 
of  the  hall  and  touched  the  heart  of  every  man 
in  it.  "  And  now,"  he  said,  "  I  see  that  you  are 
thinking,  *  Even  if  these  things  are  true,  it 
would  be  better  for  some  one  else  to  say  them. 
Is  it  quite  fitting,  quite  decent  for  him  to  come 
before  us  thus  boldly  and  ask  for  the  highest 
gift  in  the  power  of  his  fellow  citizens  to  give? ' 
In  other  words  you  have  the  old  idea  which  we 
have  heard  so  often,  *  the  office  should  seek  the 
man,  not  the  man  the  office.'  That  is,  the  most 
august  dignity  of  the  commonwealth  should  go 
flitting  about  seeking  on  whom  it  may  alight, 
like  a  fly  on  a  summer  afternoon,  buzzing  care 
lessly  into  some  wide-open  mouth  —  or  wide- 
open  pocket.  My  friends,  that  old  idea  is  based 


314  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

on  a  delusion,  a  delusion  which,  if  it  is  not  dis 
pelled,  and  quickly,  will  be  fatal  to  our  coun 
try  and  to  the  great  experiment  of  democratic 
government,  the  delusion  that  office  means  not 
something  to  do,  but  something  to  get.  Office 
is  not  a  reward,  it  is  a  duty.  Duty  done  brings 
its  reward  with  it,  as  always,  in  this  case  the 
most  glorious  reward  the  world  can  give.  But 
no  man  who  is  worthy  of  the  duty  thinks  first 
of  the  reward.  And  that  is  why  I  dare  to  pre 
sent  myself  before  you  asking  the  privilege  of 
undertaking  the  most  solemn  duty  that  I  know 
of  anywhere.  Others,  many,  may  be  more 
worthy  of  it.  But  they  have  not  undertaken  it. 
I  will  undertake  it.  I  believe  that  those  blots, 
those  stains  which  rest  upon  the  government  of 
Massachusetts,  as  they  rest,  in  less  or  greater 
measure,  upon  the  government  of  all  our  states, 
not  by  the  fault  of  any  man  or  any  party,  but 
of  the  system,  may  be  removed  by  changing 
the  system,  and  I  am  ready  to  give  my  strength, 
my  brain,  my  will,  every  power  of  body  and 
soul,  to  bringing  about  that  change,  so  that 
Massachusetts  may  be  the  best  governed,  the 
freest,  the  happiest,  the  most  democratic  com 
munity  in  the  world.  Gentlemen,  it  is  on  the 
strength  of  this  resolve  that  I  ask  you  to  make 
me  your  candidate  for  the  governorship." 

During  all  this  speech  there  was  not  one  out 
burst  of  applause.  There  were  none  of  those 
cheap  points  that  manifestly  call  for  it.  But 
there  was  that  unbroken,  solemn  hush  which 


MATTHEW  SORTER  315 

makes  you  feel  that  a  great  orator  is  holding 
every  ear  intent  upon  his  words.  The  hush 
lasted  even  for  a  second  or  two  after  the  speech 
was  over.  Then  the  restrained  feeling  of  the 
great  assembly  burst  out  in  a  roar  which  has 
rarely  been  equalled  at  a  political  gathering  in 
Massachusetts. 

It  was  long  before  the  chairman  could  restore 
order  sufficiently  to  proceed  with  the  balloting. 
But  when  at  last  the  vote  was  taken,  Porter  was 
found  to  have  captured  nearly  all  the  delegates 
whose  instructions  did  not  oblige  them  to  vote 
against  him. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

VIOLA  had  kept  away  from  the  convention; 
but  Flitters  had  telephoned  progress  to  her  con 
stantly  and  she  had  news  of  the  nomination  as 
soon  as  the  chairman  had  announced  it.  So  far 
it  was  settled  then,  the  first  great  step  was 
taken,  the  first  great  battle  won.  She  sat  down 
at  her  desk  immediately  and  wrote  the  "  Demo 
crat  "  letter  for  Saturday,  a  Miriam's  song  of 
abounding  exultation  and  triumph.  Failure 
would  not  have  meant  defeat,  she  said,  nor  dis 
couragement,  nor  one  moment's  abandonment 
of  the  unfaltering  struggle ;  but  success  —  and 
success  achieved  in  such  a  notable  way,  snatched 
overwhelmingly  from  the  very  grasp  of  tri 
umphant  opposition  —  was  a  most  inspiring 
augury  for  the  final  victory,  not  of  any  man, 
or  of  any  party,  but  of  a  great,  fertile,  fruitful, 
renovating,  democratic  idea.  Hitherto  the  idea 
had  been,  after  all,  only  speculative,  only  aca 
demic.  Now  it  had  been  given  a  real,  political 
existence,  a  normal,  corporate  shape,  which 
would  serve  as  a  rallying  point  for  its  friends 
and  a  terror  to  its  foes.  Surely,  not  only  all 
Democrats,  but  all  independent  lovers  of  clean, 
honest,  strong  government  would  see  the  way 
clear  before  them  from  now  until  November. 

316 


JttATTHEW  SORTER  317 

It  had  been  arranged  that,  if  everything  went 
well,  Viola  should  receive  the  candidate  and  all 
his  friends  and  all  hers  on  the  evening  after  the 
convention.  Burke  arrived  first.  During  the 
past  few  weeks  Viola  had  taken  quite  a  fancy 
to  the  hearty  Irishman,  and  had  even  gone  so 
far  as  to  call  on  his  wife,  a  step  which  Flitters 
registered  as  the  most  astounding  of  all  the  ex 
pressions  of  growing  democracy. 

"  The  lieutenant-governor,  I  believe?  "  began 
the  hostess,  as  she  shook  hands  warmly. 

"  That's  as  may  be;  but  it's  of  no  consequence 
whatever.  Oh,  Miss  Buckingham,  you  ought  to 
have  heard  him.  He  took  the  whole  crowd  right 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  —  and  put  them  in  the 
hollow  of  his  heart." 

"  Hinckley?  "   asked  Viola,  with  gentle  irony. 

"  Well,  Hinckley,  I  don't  know.  Hinckley's 
a  hard  nut.  Still,  Hinckley  will  come  into  line 
now.  He  must.  He  can't  help  seeing  that 
Porter's  a  big  man.  He  is  a  big  man,  Miss 
Buckingham.  His  heart  is  big  enough  to  take 
in  even  Bob  Hinckley." 

"  And  his  head  big  enough  to  take  him  in 
too?  "  was  the  sympathetic  inquiry. 

"Oh,  a  dozen  Hinckleys.  That  trick  of 
speaking  —  and  just  at  the  right  moment  — 
Hinckley  never  would  have  thought  of  anything 
so  simple  as  that.  We  shall  live  to  see  Porter 
president,  Miss  Buckingham.  Mark  my 
words." 

"I  do  —  like  a  prophet's." 


318  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Here  others  began  to  arrive,  Flitters  and 
Flora,  Wingate,  then  Constance,  who  had  not 
been  near  Viola  since  the  famous  lot-drawing 
at  Falmouth  and  who  had  now  been  invited  to 
spend  the  night  for  purposes  of  explanation  and 
reconciliation,  if  necessary.  Flora  had  com 
municated  to  Viola  her  suspicions  of  Constance's 
feeling  for  Flitters  and  they  coincided  so  exactly 
with  Viola's  own  that  she  was  determined  to 
look  into  the  matter  as  far  as  possible. 

"  So  glad  you  could  come,  dear,"  Viola  said, 
taking  both  her  guest's  hands  affectionately. 

But  Constance's  eye  passed  beyond  her  host 
ess  to  Flitters  and  Flora  who  were  together  at 
the  piano.  '  Yes,"  she  said,  without  enthusi 
asm,  "  I  was  glad  to  come." 

Then  a  group  of  other  girls  appeared,  Laura 
and  Grace  and  Ruth.  Then  Eugene  McCarthy. 
Then  one  or  two  of  Porter's  political  associates. 
And  Viola  was  obliged  to  turn  her  attention 
from  immediate  friends  to  the  judicious  assort 
ing  of  comparative  strangers. 

Wingate  naturally  attached  himself  to  Ruth, 
and  listened  with  interest  to  her  slightly  hoarse- 
voiced  enthusiasm  over  the  events  of  the  day. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wingate,  wasn't  it  splendid?  I 
would  have  given  anything  to  go;  but  Viola 
advised  me  not.  She  said  the  crowd  would  be 
noisy  and  dirty,  but  I  don't  mind  noise  and  dirt 
in  a  great  cause,  do  you?  Think  of  Mr.  Por 
ter's  getting  up  there  with  them  all  against 
him  —  well,  not  all,  of  course,  but  so  many  of 


MATTHEW  SORTER  319 

them  —  and  winning  them  over  just  by  speak 
ing.  I  can  imagine  how  he  looked.  I  think 
he's  so  handsome,  that  is,  so  distinguished  look 
ing,  so  earnest,  as  if  he  believed  every  word  he 
says  and  were  bound  to  make  you  believe  it. 
And  he  did  make  all  those  people." 

Wingate  listened  and  thought  he  had  rather 
hear  her  speak  than  Porter.  He  wished,  too, 
that  he  had  gifts  of  earnestness  and  spell-bind 
ing  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Then  he  saw 
McCarthy  coming  towards  them  and  wished 
other  things  distinctly  discourteous.  He  would 
have  moved  away;  but  he  knew  that  Ruth 
would  not  care  if  he  did;  therefore  he  didn't. 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Eugene,"  Ruth 
cried.  "  Just  think,  we  haven't  met  since  that 
odd  evening  at  Falmouth." 

"  Odd  evening  at  Falmouth?  "  repeated  Win- 
gate,  who  felt  that  he  must  keep  in  the  conver 
sation  or  leave. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Ruth.  "  You  weren't  there, 
were  you?  It  was  such  fun!" 

Then  she  gave  a  vivid  account  of  that  inter 
esting  occasion,  lot-drawing  and  all.  Wingate 
listened,  but  heard  not.  Her  quick  speech  and 
nimble  gesture  were  more  to  him  than  what  she 
told  and  still  more  was  the  evident  fact  that 
though  she  spoke  to  him,  she  was  talking  to 
Eugene.  Eugene  must  confirm  her  recollec 
tions  and  supply  her  deficiencies.  Eugene  was 
everything  and  he,  Wingate,  was  nothing.  Yet 
Eugene  was  a  little,  insignificant,  commonplace 


320  MATTHEW  SORTER 

fiddler  —  no  more.  It  was  so  curious  the  way 
these  matters  worked. 

"  Now  those  three  are  too  old  to  be  fooled  by 
Cupid,  don't  you  think? "  said  Flitters  to 
Flora,  as  they  leaned  against  the  piano,  side  by 
side,  turning  over  new  songs  and  gazing  at  the 
company. 

"  The  older,  the  more  easily  fooled,  I  believe; 
when  Cupid  cares  to  take  the  trouble,"  was  the 
sage  reply. 

"  Perhaps  so.  I've  really  had  so  little  to  do 
with  Cupid  myself.  And  you?  " 

"Who,  I?  And  Cupid?  Look  at  my  dusty 
brown  shock  of  hair  and  the  queer  lines  in  my 
face  and  the  awkward  angles  all  over  me,  as 
I  look  at  them  in  the  glass  daily,  with  agony, 
and  then  don't  talk  about  me  and  Cupid." 

Flitters  turned  and  took  a  cool  survey  of  the 
indicated  object  of  contemplation.  Then  he 
said,  with  slow  impertinence,  "  I've  always 
heard  that  Cupid,  in  applying  his  torch,  con 
sidered  rather  the  combustible  than  the  esthetic. 
Witness  Eugene  there,  with  whom  you  certainly 
compare  favourably  as  regards  personal  attrac 
tions.  In  fact,  I  find  your  speaking  coiffure, 
your  mask  of  gaiety,  and  your  crisp,  definite 
gestures,  rather  piquant.  Compare  yourself 
with  Constance,  for  instance.  Now,  of  the  two, 
for  my  part  —  " 

"  Oh,  Constance! "  Flora  interrupted. 
"  Cupid  has  got  his  whole  grip  on  her.  You'd 


MATTHEW  SORTER  321 

better  look  out:  there's  trouble  brewing  for 
you  from  Constance." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  was  the  careless  answer. 

But  just  then  the  hero  of  the  evening  entered 
and  left  no  room  for  further  personalities.  The 
instant  he  appeared  a  universal  cheer  went  up, 
which  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  house  and  must 
have  flowed  out  upon  the  mild  decorum  of  Sep 
tember  Beacon  Street.  And  Flitters,  jumping 
on  to  the  piano-stool,  initiated  a  thunderous 
rendering  of  the  "  Mosquito  "  chorus,  "  Hurrah 
for  Billy  the  guv'nor." 

Porter  took  his  honours  serenely,  if  not 
meekly,  and  bowed  acknowledgment.  Then  he 
shook  hands  with  his  hostess,  who  had  stepped 
forward  to  meet  him.  All  eyes  were  upon  the 
two.  He  knew  it,  and  she  knew  it,  and  Viola 
felt  a  slight  increase  of  colour  in  her  cheek, 
which  vexed  her.  Otherwise  their  mutual  salu 
tation  was  as  tranquil  as  if  they  two  were  in 
the  room  alone. 

"  It  was  a  noble,  glorious,  worthy,  well- 
earned  victory,"  she  said.  "  All  we  Porterites 
are  proud  and  we  know  it  is  only  a  sure  step 
ping-stone  to  the  other  and  more  important 
victory  later." 

Porter  bowed.  But  bowing  was  not  enough. 
"Speech!  Speech!"  shouted  Flitters,  Burke, 
Wingate,  everybody. 

"  I've  spoken  enough  for  one  day,"  Porter 
protested.  "  Besides,  this  is  a  purely  social  oc 


casion." 


322  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Nevertheless,  he  did  say  a  few  words  further, 
addressed  chiefly  to  Viola,  conveying  his  feeling 
that  her  support  and  that  of  her  friends  was  the 
greatest  possible  testimony  to  the  importance 
of  his  cause,  and  his  hope  that,  if  he  did  succeed, 
he  should  be  able  to  justify  their  confidence.  In 
concluding  he  suggested  that  Mr.  Buckingham 
would  probably  be  able  to  say  something  more 
appropriate  to  the  occasion. 

"  More  appropriate  to  you,"  cried  Flitters, 
nothing  loath  to  take  up  his  turn.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  this  humility?  Don't  you  know 
that  the  one  thing  a  politician  may  not  be,  is 
modest?  He  may  be  generous,  he  may  be  loyal, 
he  may  be  intelligent,  he  may  be  honest,  he  may 
even,  in  rare  cases,  be  a  gentleman.  Modest  he 
cannot  be." 

'  Who  said  I  was  modest?  "  interjected  Por 
ter,  with  entire  calmness. 

"  Not  you.  You  didn't  even  pretend  to  be, 
which  is  an  old  trick,  a  common  trick,  though  it 
often  goes.  You  were  modest,  which  is  dam 
nable.  Now,  my  very  good  friends,  let  us  put 
the  modest  gentleman  and  his  concerns  com 
pletely  out  of  sight  for  an  hour  or  two  and  eat 
and  drink  and  enjoy  ourselves." 

So  they  did;  and  for  the  most  part  politics 
were  not  mentioned,  though  now  and  then  whis 
pers  were  exchanged  in  a  corner. 

"  I  haven't  thanked  you  yet  for  the  hint  you 
gave  me  last  week,"  said  Porter  to  Flitters. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  323 

"  It  was  of  immense  service  —  and  so  out  of 
your  line." 

"  I  have  no  line,"  was  the  contemptuous  an 
swer.  "  You  creatures  with  a  line  go  like  bum 
blebees,  first  a  blind  knock-down  rush  in  one 
direction,  then  the  same  thing  in  another  —  all 
useless.  I  —  flit.  I  happened  to  flit  your  way. 
Don't  thank  me." 

When  the  guests  were  gone,  trailing  their 
wild  gaiety  after  them,  Viola  sat  down  quietly 
with  Constance. 

"  I've  been  nearly  a  month  in  town,"  said 
the  former.  "  I  hoped  to  see  you  before." 

"  Did  you?  "  was  the  cold  answer.  "  I  have 
been  very  busy." 

"  Of  course,  if  you've  been  busy  —  But  I 
trust  there's  been  nothing  else  to  prevent  your 
coming,  nothing  that  happened  —  in  any  way 
—  at  Falmouth." 

Constance  spoke  without  looking  up  from  her 
hands  which  were  busily  engaged  with  her  fan. 
"What  should  there  be?" 

"  I  don't  know  why  there  should  be  anything. 
Only  I  wondered." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  Con 
stance  opened  and  shut  her  fan  sharply  and 
looked  at  Viola  with  angry  brown  eyes.  "  I 
don't  think  I'm  clever  enough  for  your  set," 
she  said. 

"  Cleverness  is  nothing/'  answered  Viola,  gen 
tler  than  usual.  "  I  don't  think  I  am  clever  in 


324  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

the  sense  you  mean.  Sometimes  cleverness  is 
worse  than  nothing.  I  hope  you  do  not  feel 
that  any  of  my  friends  have  meant  to  be  un 
civil." 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  mean." 

"  I  could  not  help  fancying,"  Viola  went  on, 
slowly,  but  without  hesitation,  "  that  perhaps 
George's  attentions  —  he  is  too  careless  about 
such  things.  That  business  of  drawing  lots  was 
so  stupid." 

Constance  woke  up  now.  "  Stupid!  Oh,  no, 
he's  not  stupid.  But  of  course  I  am.  And  you 
think  I've  made  a  goose  of  myself.  And  you 
think  I'm  in  love  with  him.  Well,  what  if  I 
am?  Didn't  he  give  me  reason  to  be,  walking 
with  me,  and  talking  with  me,  and  asking  me 
to  play  to  him?  He  has  a  way  of  looking  at 
you —  Well,  never  mind  all  that.  I  don't 
know  why  I  came  here.  Just  to  see  him  flirt 
ing  with  that  Flora  Chantrey,  great  scrawny 
thing,  with  her  clothes  thrown  on  to  her  any 
way,  and  her  dirty  brown  wopse  of  hair." 

"  But,  Constance,"  interrupted  Viola,  infi 
nitely  distressed,  "  you  take  all  George's  jests  so 
seriously." 

"His  jests!"  Her  pale  face  was  really 
flushed  for  once,  her  eyes  almost  wild.  "  Let 
him  keep  his  jests  for  those  that  understand 
them.  I  won't  be  one  of  his  jests.  You've  been 
good  to  me.  I  don't  deny  that.  You're  differ 
ent  from  the  others.  But  they're  always  after 
what  you  call  jests.  They're  cruel,  they're 


MATTHEW  SORTER  325 

heartless,  they're  spiteful  —  and  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  think  —  I  think  they're  all  stupid.  I'm 
going  now.  It  was  kind  of  you  to  ask  me,  but 
I  don't  want  to  stay  where  I'm  reminded  of 
them.  Good-bye." 

And  in  spite  of  all  Viola's  protests  and  en 
deavours  to  detain  her  for  the  night  in  accord 
ance  with  their  original  arrangement,  she  in 
sisted  on  getting  together  her  belongings  and 
departing  in  a  cab,  though  it  was  close  to  mid 
night. 

"  I  don't  blame  you,"  were  her  last  words  to 
Viola.  "  But  I  don't  want  to  see  any  of  your 
set  again,  above  all  not  her  —  nor  him." 

As  the  cab  drove  off  Viola  realized  that  you 
cannot  always  judge  a  day,  no  matter  how 
golden,  till  it  is  ended. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE  Republican  convention  met  on  the  day 
after  the  Democratic,  and  Heath  was  nomi 
nated  with  very  little  opposition.  He  was  not 
in  every  respect  a  popular  candidate.  Many 
old  Republicans  complained  that  he  was  not  the 
sort  of  governor  Massachusetts  had  had  in  the 
past.  But  he  was  rich,  he  was  aristocratic,  he 
spoke  well  and  was  agreeable,  when  he  chose  to 
be  so,  and  he  had  the  right  men  behind  him. 
As  his  uncle  said,  if  he  would  not  make  a  good 
governor,  at  least  there  was  nothing  better  in 
sight. 

"Well,  Dudley,"  began  Wood,  as  the  two 
met  in  the  latter's  office  the  morning  after  the 
nomination.  "  It's  up  to  you  to  show  all  there 
is  in  you." 

"  Not  to  me,"  was  the  cool  reply.  "  To  you. 
I'm  only  the  figurehead  now." 

"Hardly,"  answered  Wood.  "After  Janu 
ary  first  you  may  be  a  figurehead,  if  you  want 
to;  but  till  then  you've  got  to  work.  It's  speak, 
speak,  speak,  till  you  drop.  No  common  hus 
tling  will  beat  Porter.  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"  Porter  has  you  all  so  scared  he  can  walk 
right  in  over  you,  without  taking  any  trouble, 
I  believe." 


JttATTHEW  SORTER  327 

"Is  any  one  more  scared  than  you?  " 
"  I'm  not  scared.     I  don't  care  enough." 
"  Oh,  drop  that,"  ejaculated  the  uncle,  with 
much  annoyance.    "  And  let's  get  down  to  busi 


ness." 


So  they  did.  And  Wood  found  to  his  satis 
faction,  as  always,  that  when  his  nephew  threw 
off  his  superficial  cynicism  and  faced  a  practi 
cal  question,  no  man  had  a  clearer  grip.  There 
must  be  speakers  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
one  senator  must  speak,  perhaps  both.  Money 
must  be  found  and  used  without  stint.  Well, 
it  could  be  and  should  be.  Newspapers  must  be 
bought  and  employed  in  editorials,  letters,  ad 
vertisements,  everything. 

"  Your  favourite  scheme  in  regard  to  Porter 
and  my  cousin?  "  asked  Heath,  with  a  sneer. 

"  All  in  good  time,"  answered  the  uncle,  un 
moved.  "  He's  piling  the  thing  up.  Just  think 
of  her  visiting  him  in  Foxbridge.  I  can  use 
that  when  I  get  to  it.  Then  there  are  those 
'  Democrat '  letters.  We  must  put  a  sharp  fel 
low  on  to  those." 

"  It  will  take  a  sharp  fellow,"  agreed  Heath 
cordially.  "  I  like  those  letters.  By  George, 
they  almost  persuade  me." 

"  If  you  don't  look  out,  they'll  do  worse  than 
persuade  you."  Wood  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
running  over  his  memoranda. 

"  Anything  more  to  be  done  with  Hinckley?  " 
Heath  inquired.  "  Or  do  you  feel  that  your 
money  was  thrown  away?" 


328  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  No,  no!  "  answered  the  Republican  chief 
tain.  "  I  haven't  a  doubt  but  Hinckley  did  his 
level  best  to  deliver  the  goods,  for  his  own  sake 
more  than  for  ours." 

"  Well,  can't  he  deliver  another  lot  now?  " 

Wood's  red  forehead  contracted  with  the  ef 
fort  of  thought.  "  I  don't  like  to  tackle  him," 
he  said  finally.  "If  he  can  stick  a  knife  into 
Porter  quietly,  I  believe  he'll  do  it.  But  he 
can't  take  any  risks  on  flying  the  track.  The 
party's  the  whole  thing  to  Hinckley  —  got  to 
be." 

So  the  two  leaders  ended  their  conclave  and 
as  a  result  of  it  things  began  to  move  through 
out  the  old  Bay  State  in  an  unusual  fashion. 
The  voice  of  the  spellbinder  was  heard  in  the 
land,  and  big  newspapers  and  little  threw  ink 
and  mud  over  each  other  and  everybody  else 
with  inexhaustible  joviality.  Only  Wood,  as  he 
had  hinted,  did  not  at  first  let  loose  his  whole 
battery  in  regard  to  Viola  and  Porter.  A 
chance  shot  here  and  there  carried  out  his  inten 
tions  for  the  present. 

On  the  Democratic  side  the  activity  was  even 
greater  than  on  the  Republican.  So  far  as 
Hinckley  was  concerned,  Porter  was  secretly  in 
clined  to  agree  with  Wood's  opinion,  at  any 
rate  as  to  the  chairman's  personal  inclinations. 
But,  on  the  surface,  his  conduct  was  irreproach 
able.  He  and  his  friends  seemed  to  take  hold 
of  the  work  with  zeal.  Meetings  were  arranged 
everywhere.  Porter  was  to  speak  all  over  the 


MATTHEW  SORTER  329 

state.  Money  was  solicited  and  was  forthcom 
ing  in  considerable  quantity,  independently  of 
the  efforts  of  Wingate,  who  assured  Porter  in 
confidence  that  he  could  command  almost  any 
amount  that  might  be  needed. 

But  undeniably  the  "  Democrat "  letters  were 
getting  to  be  more  and  more  a  prominent  ele 
ment  of  the  campaign.  Everybody  was  reading 
them  and  talking  of  them.  The  vigour,  the 
clearness  of  the  style,  the  direct  logic  of  the 
ideas,  brought  Porter's  position  within  the  grasp 
of  thousands  who  in  general  regarded  politics 
as  matter  indifferent  or  detestable.  The  Re 
publican  attempts  at  reply  were  often  clever  and 
ingenious,  but  rarely  convincing.  Almost  all 
of  them  made  the  mistake  of  assailing  Porter 
personally,  not  only  with  hints  of  his  new  social 
connection,  but  with  general  insinuations  as  to 
his  political  purposes.  Of  these  "  Democrat " 
took  very  little  notice,  disposing  of  them  with 
a  brief  word  which  brought  out  in  burning  clear 
ness  the  petty  nature  of  such  attacks. 

Various  conjectures  were  still  brought  for 
ward  as  to  the  authorship  of  the  letters.  Win- 
gate  was  the  favourite;  but  those  who  knew 
Wingate  best  were  commonly  ready  with  the 
friendly  remark  that  they  did  not  believe  he  had 
it  in  him.  If  not  Wingate,  who? 

Porter,  at  any  rate,  could  answer  the  question, 
and  the  letters  certainly  meant  a  thousand  times 
more  to  him  than  to  any  one  else.  Each  one 
was  a  new  revelation  of  the  author's  understand- 


330  MATTHEW  SORTER 

ing  of  his  idea.  Long  as  he  had  meditated  on 
it  and  lived  with  it,  often  as  he  had  turned  it 
over  in  every  conceivable  connection,  her  han 
dling  seemed  to  give  it  new  significance  and 
vitality  even  for  him.  And  with  his  gratitude 
for  such  sympathy,  his  personal  feeling,  his  now 
admitted  love,  had  grown  more  and  more  rap 
idly.  It  was  not  the  absorbed  subjection  of 
sex  to  sex,  entertained  with  humiliation  and 
cherished  with  self -contempt,  which  had  formed 
so  large  a  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  his  love  for 
Margaret.  Viola  now  seemed  to  him  more  beau 
tiful,  more  feminine  than  Margaret,  of  an  am 
pler,  nobler,  purer  femininity.  But  the  attrac 
tion  to  her  was  not  only  that  of  sex  to  sex,  but 
of  unsexed  spirit  to  spirit.  In  living  with  her, 
in  working  with  her,  there  would  be  no  abnega 
tion,  no  limitation,  every  pulse  of  love  would 
mean  a  pulse  of  freer,  stronger,  richer  spiritual 
life.  And  as  he  read  the  letters  in  the  light  of 
this  feeling,  he  began  to  permit  himself  the  ques 
tion  whether,  after  all,  her  own  attitude  was  so 
absolutely  impersonal  as  he  had  thought  it. 
Could  she  enter  so  perfectly  into  his  head  and 
not  a  little  into  his  heart?  Could  she  — ? . 

Her  letter  of  Saturday,  October  seventh, 
came  upon  him  when  he  was  most  busy  with 
these  interrogations.  It  was  to  the  full  effect 
ive  as  any  before,  and  after  dwelling  upon  it  all 
that  day  and  quoting  a  considerable  part  of  it 
in  his  speech  that  night,  when  Sunday  evening 
came,  he  decided  that  the  least  he  could  do  was 


MATTHEW  SORTER  331 

to  call  and  thank  her.  If  —  if — .  But  there 
were  no  "  ifs."  Anything  beyond  bare  thanks 
should  be  left  to  accident  and  circumstance.  He 
was  free  as  air  and  so  was  she.  There  was  no 
reason  in  the  wide  world  why  they  should  not 
marry.  As  for  the  idle  malice  of  Heath  and 
his  set  of  political  scandal-mongers,  no  man  who 
was  worthy  to  make  himself  a  place  in  the  world 
would  be  deterred  from  doing  anything  that 
was  not  dishonourable  by  the  chatter  of  such 
as  they. 

He  found  one  or  two  callers  with  Viola;  but 
they  speedily  departed  and  the  two  were  left 
alone.  One  of  the  subtlest  psychologists  who 
ever  lived  tells  us  that  "  A  man,  my  good  sir, 
has  seldom  an  offer  of  kindness  to  make  to  a 
woman,  but  she  has  a  presentiment  of  it  some 
moments  before."  It  would  be  too  much  to  say 
that  Viola  suspected  what  was  going  on  in  her 
visitor's  mind;  but  she  was  instantly  aware  of 
something  uncommon,  and  her  own  manner  was 
therefore  not  quite  natural,  as  she  accepted  his 
thanks  for  her  last  letter  and  his  enthusiastic 
praise  of  the  tact  and  delicacy  which  she  had 
shown  in  all  of  them. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  be  appreciated,"  she  said. 
"  But  you  exaggerate  my  part.  Let  a  person 
once  believe  thoroughly,  heartily,  in  a  noble 
cause,  and  all  these  gifts,  such  as  they  are,  will 
be  added  unto  him." 

Then  she  went  on,  with  perhaps  a  somewhat 
unnecessary  haste,  to  ask  one  string  of  political 


332  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

questions  after  another.  His  speaking  last 
night,  was  it  successful  and  effective?  But  of 
course  it  was.  Had  he  seen  Heath's  speech  also 
made  last  night?  Clever,  of  course,  but  so 
hollow  and  artificial,  and  thoroughly  false. 
Surely  it  was  not  possible  the  people  could  be 
imposed  on  by  such  things?  And  Hinckley, 
was  he  wholly  to  be  trusted? 

So  she  talked,  and  he  listened,  and  answered 
when  it  was  necessary;  but  his  answers  were  so 
brief,  so  insufficient,  so  lacking  in  his  usual  clear 
vigour,  that  at  last  she  found  herself  embar 
rassed  and  hardly  able  to  go  on.  Yet  she  hesi 
tated —  why,  she  did  not  know  —  to  ask  the 
reason  of  his  abstraction. 

He  did  not  leave  her  long  in  doubt.  "  Miss 
Buckingham,"  he  began.  She  had  heard  many 
tones  of  his  voice  before,  speaking  of  many 
things;  but  she  had  never  heard  that  tone. 
"  Miss  Buckingham,  of  course  you  remember 
what  you  told  me  at  Falmouth  of  Heath's 
schemes  and  plans? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  shrinking  back  in  her 
deep  chair,  her  hands  lying  in  her  lap.  "  Yes." 

But  he  grew  bolder  now  he  had  begun,  leaned 
forward  more  earnestly  as  she  shrank  back. 
"  Is  it,  can  it  be  only  my  idea,  my  cause,  that 
you  believe  in  —  love?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Porter,  don't!"  she  cried,  with 
an  expression  of  pain  on  her  pale  face,  stretch 
ing  out  one  hand  involuntarily  as  if  to  put  aside 


MATTHEW  SORTER  333 

this  new,  distressing  thought.  "  Don't,  I  beg 
of  you." 

"  But  I  must,"  he  persisted,  firm  and  quiet, 
though  he  saw  her  trouble  and  did  not  know  how 
to  interpret  it.  "I  must.  I  have  got  clear  with 
myself  in  the  last  few  days  and  I  can't  go  on 
making  believe  any  more.  I  have  told  myself 
that  I  must  look  upon  you  as  a  friendly  jour 
nalist,  an  ardent  political  follower,  a  faithful 
friend  and  companion.  Oh,  a  deus  —  or  dea  — 
ex  machina,  if  you  like,  anything  but  a  woman 
to  be  loved.  Well,  I  can't.  You  are  a  woman 
-  and  I  love  you.  But  it  isn't  mere  love.  Isn't 
it  the  rarest  of  things  that  love  should  come  with 
such  perfect  sympathy,  such  complete  under 
standing,  such  an  absolute  oneness  of  desires 
and  aims?  That  is,  my  love.  I  haven't  dared 
to  ask  myself  whether  you  loved  me.  Why 
should  you?  How  can  you?  " 

After  the  first  attempt  to  stop  the  torrent, 
Viola  had  sat  motionless,  looking,  with  troubled 
eyes,  into  vacancy.  But  now  it  seemed  neces 
sary  to  speak.  "  It  isn't  that,"  she  said,  in  a 
broken  voice,  "  it  isn't  any  question  of  you  or 
me.  It  must  not  be.  It  cannot  be." 

"  Why? " 

:<  It  doesn't  seem  right.  We  are  not  children, 
to  blend  a  great  cause  with  childish  love- 
making." 

"  Not  children's  love  —  man's  and  woman's 
love.  Have  you  never  divined  mine?  " 


334  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"Never,"  she  said,  as  it  seemed,  sincerely; 
but  she  added,  "  I  would  not.  And  then  — 
only  last  spring  —  Margaret  Ferguson." 

It  was  his  turn  to  shrink  now.  "  I  know. 
How  often  I  have  blamed  myself!  But  you 
don't  realize  how  different  it  is.  That  love  — 
worked  against  —  all  my  ideals.  This  love  works 
with  them,  makes  my  nature  larger,  fuller,  riper, 
on  every  side  of  it." 

She  listened,  in  the  deepest  thought,  her  eyes 
turned  from  vacancy  to  him.  "  I  can't  admit 
it,  can't  recognize  it,"  she  said.  "  I  have  lived 
my  life  thirty  years  for  myself;  as  I  thought, 
past  all  the  trouble  of  these  love  infatuations. 
Self  was  never  enough  for  me,  yet  I  found 
nothing  worth  giving  it  up  for.  Then  a  great 
ideal  came  to  me.  I  have  worked  for  it,  given 
myself  up  to  it,  with  all  the  strength  I  had  saved 
and  stored  for  so  long.  It  was  a  consecration, 
as  holy  as  a  nun's  to  her  other-worldliness. 
Now  you  ask  me  to  blend  it  all  with  love,  just 
common,  human  love,  which  I  have  always  half- 
despised.  It  seems  an  utter  profanation."  She 
clasped  her  hands  and  gazed  at  him  in  an  agony 
of  mute  appeal. 

Yet  through  it  all  he  noticed  that  she  did  not 
say  she  did  not  love  him  and  as  he  answered 
her  there  was  a  strange,  grave  exultation  in  his 
voice.  "  Just  common  human  love,"  he  re 
peated,  "  beautiful  and  not  to  be  despised, 
because  it  is  common  and  human.  Viola,  you 
have  taught  me  so  many  things,  shown  me  so 


MATTHEW  SORTER  335 

much  that  is  fine  and  beautiful  in  ways  remote 
from  the  common  passage  of  human  feet. 
Haven't  I  perhaps  done  just  this  one  little  thing 
for  you,  shown  you  that  what  is  common  may 
be  lovely,  not  in  spite  of,  but  because  of  its  com 
monness?  Instead  of  profaning  the  cause,  it 
seems  to  me  that  love  would  enrich  and  ennoble 
it,  just  as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  cause  would 
sanctify  love." 

She  made  no  answer  and  for  a  long  time  they 
sat  silent,  while  the  clock  ticked  and  the  city 
noises  rumbled  and  resounded  far  away.  When 
at  last  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  gentler  even 
than  usual.  "  I  can't  find  myself  in  it  all.  It 
seems  to  me  impossible.  Will  you  do  one  thing 
for  me  —  forget  this  utterly,  till  the  election  is 
over?  Then  we  shall  have  time  to  think  it  out 
in  peace.  Until  then  I  can't.  Will  you  promise 
me?  "  She  rose  and  extended  her  hand  as  she 
asked  the  question,  evidently  meaning  that  he 
should  leave  her. 

Loath  as  he  was,  he  could  hardly  refuse. 
Standing  close  in  front  of  her,  with  her  hand  in 
his,  he  murmured,  "  I  promise."  Then  he 
pressed  the  hand  passionately  to  his  lips  and  was 
gone. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

"  I  RATHER  think  I  shall  call  on  Viola  Buck 
ingham,"  remarked  Margaret  Heath  one  morn 
ing  to  her  husband. 

"  I  rather  think  you  won't,  if  you  consult  my 
wishes/'  was  the  decided  reply. 

"  By  all  means  let  us  consult  your  wishes. 
Any  reason  to  offer?  " 

"  Aren't  my  wishes  enough?  " 

*  Well,   no,   since   you   ask   me,   they   aren't. 
How  often  do  you  consult  mine?  " 

There  was  a  silence,  while  the  husband  sipped 
his  hot  coffee  and  the  wife  crumbled  a  bit  of 
muffin  in  her  fingers.  The  wife  spoke  first. 

*  Why  don't  you  answer  me?  " 

"About  what?  Oh,  about  Viola.  I  have 
answered  you." 

'  Very  well.    Then  I  shall  go." 

The  husband  set  his  coffee  down  too  hard  — 
and  spilled  it.  "  Margaret,  why  should  you  do 
anything  of  the  kind?  Don't  you  understand 
decency?  This  isn't  decency.  In  the  middle  of 
a  hot  campaign  —  for  the  wife  of  one  candidate 
to  visit  the  headquarters  of  the  other  side!" 

'  The  headquarters  of  the  other  side,"  re 
peated  Margaret  thoughtfully,  still  crumbling. 

336 


MATTHEW  SORTER  337 

w*  I  didn't  know  it  had  gone  so  far  as  that.  But 
that  is  all  politics.  I  care  nothing  whatever 
for  politics.  Miss  Buckingham  is  an  acquaint 
ance  of  mine.  I  am  curious  to  see  her  just  now. 
And,  Dudley,  you  mentioned  decency.  You 
can't  think  how  amusing  that  is  —  between  you 
and  me." 

She  leaned  both  round,  brown  arms,  sleeveless 
to  the  elbow,  on  the  table,  rested  her  chin  on 
them  and  gazed  at  him,  half  in  coquetry,  half  in 
hatred. 

But  he  cared  for  neither  the  hatred  nor  the 
coquetry  and  there  was  only  indifference  and 
impatience  in  the  glance  he  gave  her  back. 
"  You  persist  in  doing  this  thing  —  when  I  ask 
you  not?  "  he  inquired. 

Still  in  the  same  attitude  she  answered,  cold 
and  slow.  "  I  may.  If  I  do,  it  will  be  chiefly 
because  you  ask  me  not." 

He  swallowed  his  coffee  and  left  the  room 
without  another  word,  and  she  watched  him  go, 
her  attitude  and  look  unchanged. 

That  very  afternoon  she  had  herself  driven 
to  Viola's  and  found  her  at  home  alone.  They 
had  not  met  since  Margaret's  marriage  and  sur 
veyed  each  other  curiously.  "  Handsomer  and 
more  cynical  than  ever,"  thought  Viola,  as  her 
eye  ran  over  the  trim,  plump  figure  in  the 
golden-brown  velvet  dress,  with  a  heavy  black 
hat  shading  the  brilliant  eyes.  And  Margaret 
noted  a  change  in  Viola  as  well.  "  What  is  it?  " 
Margaret  asked  herself.  "  Is  she  less  haughty 


338  MCATTHEW  TORTER 

or  more?    A  queen?    Of  Democrats?    Is  it  all 
Mat's  doing? " 

While  they  thought,  they  talked  however  — 
quite  differently. 

"  My  husband  forbade  my  coming  here,"  said 
Margaret,  after  the  first  greetings  were  over 
and  the  two  were  seated,  facing  each  other. 

"Indeed?"  Viola's  answer  indicated  polite 
curiosity,  nothing  more. 

"  Oh,  yes.    He  is  so  full  of  politics." 

"  Not  unnaturally,"  the  hostess  interrupted. 
'  You  think  so?     Well,  perhaps,  for  a  man. 
Fortunately  women  are  above  such  things  and 
can  enjoy  a  clearer  social  atmosphere." 

Viola  made  no  comment  on  this,  simply  leaned 
quietly  back  in  her  chair  and  waited;  so  the 
visitor  went  on.  "  Dudley  thinks,  in  fact  he 
said  that  you  have  quite  a  political  salon  here 
—  are  almost  the  centre  of  everything  that  is 
opposed  to  him.  Absurd,  isn't  he?" 

"Well,"  answered  Viola,  still  leaning  back, 
still  untroubled.  "  I  don't  know  about  the  salon 
part  of  it." 

"But  that's  the  best  part  of  it,"  Margaret 
went  on,  eager  in  her  words,  but  cold  and  cyn 
ical  in  her  manner.  "  The  salon  —  if  one  could 
have  it  —  would  be  worth  while.  But  fancy  a 
salon  of  Democrats !  " 

"  Or  of  Republicans." 

"  Just  so.  Or  of  Republicans.  Then  you  do 
admit  that  you  are  a  centre  of  opposition? " 


MATTHEW  PORTER  339 

This  with  the  inconceivable  impertinence  which 
no  one  better  understood. 

But  Viola  cared  as  little  for  her  impertinence 
as  the  moon  for  a  spitting  firework.  "  Of 
progress,  I  should  like  to  be.  Your  people  rep 
resent  the  opposition." 

Margaret  fell  back  with  a  little  play  gasp. 
"  Excuse  me,"  she  murmured.  "  But  you  have 
changed  so.  I  can't  seem  to  think  of  you  and 
radical  politics  together." 

Viola  smiled.  "I'm  sorry  to  impose  such  a 
mental  strain  upon  you.  But  if  you  take  it 
quietly,  perhaps  the  image  may  become  accli 
mated  in  time." 

"  Of  course,"  went  on  the  visitor,  "  I  can  un 
derstand  ambition.  It  is  pleasant  to  rule,  pleas 
ant  to  feel  one's  self  the  pulse  of  the  machine, 
pleasant  to  stand  behind  and  think  that  all  these 
contemptible  political  puppets  are  running  at 
one's  beck  and  call.  There's  a  real  woman's 
part  to  play  in  all  that.  Only  I  never  should 
have  thought  you  were  the  woman  to  play  it." 

"  How  little  we  understand  even  those  we 
think  we  understand  best,"  was  the  calm  reply. 
Then  Viola,  still  calm,  as  if  she  were  imparting 
a  recipe  for  cake,  went  on  to  say  a  few  things. 
"  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Heath,  I'm  not  that  kind 
of  woman  at  all.  I'm  not  cherishing  any  am 
bitions  nor  trying  to  move  any  puppets.  A 
great  idea  has  come  into  my  life  and  changed 
the  whole  course  of  it.  I've  come  to  believe  in 


340  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

the  people,  to  think  that  the  working  out  of 
democratic  government  is  the  secret  of  the 
future,  the  true  way  that  the  world  is  to  be 
saved  —  politically,  —  if  it  is  to  be  saved.  Such 
an  idea  does  alter  one's  character,  no  doubt." 

The  lips  were  Viola's,  but  through  them  Mar 
garet  heard  a  voice  not  Viola's,  Porter's,  only 
Porter's,  and  the  voice  meant  far  more  to  her 
than  the  things  that  were  uttered.  Who  can 
question  that  Viola  knew  it  would  be  so? 

But  whatever  agitation  Mrs.  Heath  may  have 
felt,  she  showed  none,  unless  by  the  added  cold 
ness  of  sarcasm  in  her  tone.  :c  How  very  odd!  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  Of  course  girls  in  college  often 
take  up  enthusiasms  in  that  way." 

Viola  kindly  completed  the  idea.  "  But  at 
our  age  enthusiasm  seems  out  of  place.  To  be 
sure.  Yet,  do  you  know,  the  enthusiasms  of 
youth,  I  sometimes  think,  are  the  best  thing  to 
keep  us  young." 

"  Now  from  a  merely  cosmetic  point  of  view 
I've  often  thought  the  contrary.  Enthusiasm 
makes  wrinkles." 

'Wrinkles  on  the  face,  perhaps;  but  it 
smooths  out  wrinkles  in  the  heart." 

"  Ah,  but  men  don't  see  the  wrinkles  in  the 
heart." 

"  That's  true,"  answered  Viola,  with  an  air 
of  profound  reflection.  "  I  hadn't  thought  of 
that." 

These  abstractions,  however,  were  not  what 
Margaret  was  after.  She  returned  to  politics. 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  341 

"  To  think  of  your  being  a  Democrat,"  she 
said.  "  A  radical.  I  can't  get  over  it.  Though, 
of  course,  they  do  say  that  the  bitterest  radicals 
always  come  from  the  aristocracy." 

"  I  don't  come  from  any  aristocracy.  And  I 
hope  I  sha'n't  be  bitter." 

But  Margaret  paid  no  attention.  '  The  asso 
ciations  must  be  the  worst  of  it,  I  should  think," 
she  went  on.  "Of  course  Democrats  all  drink 
—  and  their  personal  habits  must  be  so  —  un 
pleasant." 

"  Of  course,"  agreed  Viola,  with  much  cheer 
fulness.  "  I  try  to  bear  it  as  well  as  I  can." 

"  And  then,  worst  of  all,  to  have  no  chance 
of  success.  I  take  so  little  interest  in  politics; 
but  to  be  a  Democrat  in  Massachusetts  has 
always  seemed  to  me  pathetic." 

"  Perhaps  if  you  took  more  interest  in  poli 
tics,  you  would  realize  that  the  day  is  coming 
when  it  may  not  be  so  pathetic,  when  the  pathos 
may  even  be  on  the  other  side." 

Margaret  had  not  mentioned  Porter  as  yet, 
but  this   seemed  to  her  to  be  the   time.      She 
sighed   a  little.      "  How   completely   he   has  - 
hypnotized  you,  hasn't  he?" 

The  suggestion  was  taken  up  almost  before 
it  was  out  of  her  mouth.  There  was  no  feint 
ing,  no  pretence  of  surprise  or  uncertainty. 
"  Oh,  yes.  Isn't  he  a  wonderful  man?  I  believe 
in  his  ideas.  He  has  explained  them  to  me  so 
patiently.  But  I  believe  most  of  all  in  him. 
He  has  the  nature  that  wins,  don't  you  think 


342  MATTHEW  SORTER 

so?  But  then,  considering  who  your  husband 
is,  you  can't  think  so.  I'm  sorry.  After  all, 
wasn't  it  you  who  would  talk  politics?  " 

"  Dear  me,  don't  apologize,"  was  the  cool  re 
ply.  "Of  course  I  talked  politics.  It  seems  to 
be  in  the  air  here.  And  naturally  women  be 
lieve  in  the  success  of  their  —  husbands. 
Still  —  " 

But  the  sentence  was  broken  off  by  the  en 
trance  of  visitors.  They  were  somewhat  amazed 
at  finding  Mrs.  Heath,  and  their  efforts  to  con 
ceal  their  amazement  showed  it.  But  this  was 
exactly  what  Margaret  liked,  and  she  talked 
more  than  ever,  darting  her  sharp  wit  right  and 
left  into  the  trim  draperies  of  propriety. 

Then  other  visitors  arrived,  men  and  women. 
Then  Porter.  A  dozen  pairs  of  eyes  watched 
the  hostess  as  she  greeted  him;  for  by  this  time 
their  relations  were  matter  of  some  public  curi 
osity,  though  no  one  could  hint  at  anything 
indecorous  or  in  any  way  imply  an  instant's 
failure  in  dignity  on  the  part  of  either.  Nor  was 
there  anything  to  feed  curiosity  on  this  occasion. 
They  met  with  unheightened  colour  and  un 
troubled  voice.  And  when  they  had  exchanged 
salutations,  they  each  turned  to  some  one  else. 
Only,  in  a  few  moments,  Porter,  explaining  that 
he  had  simply  called  to  make  some  necessary 
inquiry,  made  it  and  took  his  leave. 

The  occasion  exactly  fell  in  with  Margaret's 
wanton  perversity  of  mood.  When  Porter  ap 
peared,  she  had  bowed  to  him  and  said  a  civil 


MATTHEW  SORTER  343 

word,  also  under  curious  general  observation. 
Nothing  more  was  required.  But  when  he  rose 
to  go,  the  spirit  of  mischief  put  it  into  her  head 
to  go  with  him.  Exhaustless  in  ingenuity  of 
tact,  when  she  so  willed  it,  she  managed  her 
adieus  in  such  a  fashion  that  he  could  neither 
hasten  away  in  advance  nor  lag  behind;  and  as 
the  servant  closed  the  great  front  door,  they 
stood  on  the  broad  sidewalk  of  Beacon  Street 
together. 

Porter  was  keenly  aware  that  the  situation 
was  ridiculous,  and  could  not  be  too  grateful 
that  the  fast  falling  twilight  made  them  less 
recognizable  than  they  would  otherwise  have 
been.  He  stepped  forward  quickly  to  assist  his 
tormentor  into  the  waiting  carriage,  only  anx 
ious  to  get  rid  of  her;  but  she  stepped  forward 
more  quickly  still. 

"  Drive  home,"  she  said  to  the  coachman. 
"  I  am  going  to  walk." 

The  carriage  was  gone,  almost  before  Porter 
knew  it,  and  Margaret  stood  looking  at  him 
and  laughing  her  hard,  cruel  laugh.  "  Of 
course  I  take  it  for  granted  you  walk  with  me," 
she  said. 

"  Mrs.  Heath,"  he  began,  in  remonstrance,  at 
the  same  time  moving  along  beside  her,  for  it 
was  impossible  to  stand  there  and  dispute  the 
point,  "  Mrs.  Heath,  what  can  you  be  thinking 
of?" 

"  Of  you,"  was  the  short  answer.  "  But  don't 
call  me  Mrs.  Heath." 


344  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"  Don't  you  understand,"  he  continued  to 
urge,  "  that  of  all  people  in  the  world  I  am  the 
last  whom  you  ought  to  be  seen  with  —  for 
every  reason? " 

"  I  care  nothing  for  reasons,"  she  burst  out, 
with  the  same  wayward  petulance.  "  I  should 
like  to  walk  with  you  and  to  have  you  walk 
with  me.  Under  the  circumstances  you  can't 
very  well  leave  me  to  go  home  in  the  dark. 
But  what  cowards  these  politics  make  of  a  man. 
Do  you  know,  only  this  morning  Dudley  was 
talking  to  me  about  decency!  Think  of  it! 
Dudley  and  decency! " 

Porter  did  think  of  it.  This  man,  whose  name 
she  could  not  associate  with  decency,  was  her 
husband,  had  been  her  husband  only  four 
months.  Doubtless,  if  she  had  married  another 
husband,  her  feeling  by  this  time  would  have 
been  the  same.  On  the  whole,  it  was  certainly 
better  to  be  the  one  she  rejected  than  the  one 
she  chose.  But  he  said  nothing  of  all  this;  only 
walked  rapidly  beside  her,  wishing  with  all  his 
heart  that  he  were  walking  somewhere  —  any 
where  —  else. 

She  was  not  disposed  to  silence,  however.  "  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said,  hurrying  her 
speech,  careless,  defiant.  "  And  I  didn't  know 
when  I  could  get  another  chance.  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  that  I  regret  it  all  now.  I  made  a  mis 
take,  a  fool's  mistake.  When  I  look  back  — 
and  look  forward,  I  see  that  you  are  the  real 
big  man  and  the  one  I  have  married  is  paste- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  345 

board,  shoddy,  cheap,  shallow,  worthless,  ready 
to  sacrifice  me  and  everything  else  to  the 
wretched  success  which  he  hasn't  character 
enough  to  win  by  any  sacrifice.  Oh,  yes,  I  see 
it  all  now-  Well,  why  don't  you  speak?" 
She  turned  half  towards  him,  looked  up,  and 
the  light  they  were  passing  struck  fire  in  her 
eyes.  "  Why  don't  you  thank  me?  Why  don't 
you  say  you  will  be  only  too  glad  to  take  me 
now,  as  I  am,  a  little  shopworn?  Oh,  don't 
worry.  I  wouldn't  come  to  you,  if  you  wanted 
me.  I  wouldn't  even  have  spoken,  if  I  hadn't 
known  you  wouldn't  want  me.  I  am  not  quite 
such  a  fool  as  that  amounts  to  —  not  for  de 
cency's  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  common  sense. 
You  don't  want  me.  I  know  that  well  enough. 
But  that  you  should  want  that  tall  skeleton 
we've  just  parted  from,  that  wax  figure  of  a 
woman,  who  dabbles  in  politics  to  please  you 
and  thinks  she  has  ideas!  Should  a  man  come 
to  a  woman  for  ideas?  Ah,  well.  It's  all  over 
now.  I've  said  what  I  want  to  say.  Go!" 

She  stopped  short,  as  she  saw  he  hesitated, 
and  stood  directly  facing  him  in  the  middle  of 
the  sidewalk.  Two  or  three  passers-by  looked 
and  wondered. 

"  Mrs.  Heath,"  he  began,  stammering,  "  Mar 
garet - 

But  she  interrupted  him  at  once.  "'  You've 
nothing  to  say.  What  can  you  say?  Will  you 
go?" 


346  MATTHEW  SORTER 

He  paused  a  second,  tried  again  to  speak, 
then  lifted  his  hat  and  went. 

Margaret's  day  was  neatly  finished  by  a  mid 
night  interview  with  her  husband. 

"  I  heard  of  your  disgraceful  conduct  this 
afternoon,"  said  he,  entering  her  dressing-room, 
when  she  had  come  in  from  the  theatre. 

"  Did  you,  indeed? "  she  asked,  stretching 
out  her  feet  to  the  fire,  her  skirt  raised  just  a 
little. 

"  I  did,  indeed,  and  your  walk  with  Porter 
to  crown  it.  Have  you  no  sense  of  decency? " 

"  Lots.  If  I  hadn't,  how  could  I  get  such 
pleasure  from  outraging  it? " 

"  I  know  well  enough  you  care  more  for 
Porter's  little  finger  than  you  do  for  the  whole 
of  me." 

She  nodded,  looking  up  at  him  from  her  com 
fortable  position.  "  That's  true  enough.  But 
don't  worry.  I  sha'n't  forget  my  wifely  duties. 
I'm  not  a  fool.  But  isn't  he  a  big  man,  Dud 
ley?  You're  such  a  pigmy,  such  a  trim  whipper- 
snapper,  such  a  tawdry  mass  of  shallow  decency, 
beside  him.  Oh,  if  I  had  had  my  wits  about 
me,  what  a  pair  we  should  have  made.  And 
now  he's  taken  up  with  that  tall,  pale  woman, 
that  ghost  of  a  woman!  " 

1  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  flavour  of  triumph. 
'  He  cares  nothing  more  for  you  anyway. 
That's  one  thing  sure.  And  all  my  doing." 

'  Your  doing?" 

"  Well,  it  was  Uncle  William's  scheme.     I 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  347 

never  believed  it  would  work;  but  I  carried  it 
out."  Then,  with  jealous  delight,  he  told  her 
how  he  himself  had  first  brought  Viola  and 
Porter  together,  first  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
wall  that  had  grown  up  between  his  wife  and 
her  former  lover. 

But  she  chose  to  look  rather  at  the  political 
aspect  than  at  the  personal.  "What  fools!" 
she  cried.  "  What  a  man's  device !  Heavy- 
headed,  thick-witted.  So  like  your  uncle  and 
you  —  not  to  foresee  that  she  would  marry 
him." 

"  I  don't  foresee  it  now,"  answered  Heath 
sulkily. 

"But  I  foresee  it  for  you,  then.  She  will 
marry  him,  she  will,  she  will!  Now,  good  night. 
And  in  future,  if  you  want  me  to  treat  decency 
with  any  respect,  don't  mention  it  to  me." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

As  the  campaign  went  on,  Porter's  vague  dis 
satisfaction  with  Hinckley  tended  to  increase. 
There  was  no  definite  ground  of  complaint. 
All  necessary  arrangements  seemed  to  be  at 
tended  to  satisfactorily  and  to  run  smoothly. 
The  money  which  Wingate  raised  in  abundance 
seemed  to  be  judiciously  expended.  Yet  Hinck- 
ley's  attitude  was  cold.  He  did  his  work  with 
out  enthusiasm.  "  The  party  has  decided,"  he 
appeared  to  say,  "  I  am  the  party's  slave.  What 
more  can  I  do  than  I  am  doing? " 

Wingate  appreciated  this  and  grew  restive. 
So  did  Smith  and  Burke.  Finally  Porter  de 
termined  to  put  an  end  to  it,  if  possible,  at  least 
to  arrive  at  some  understanding;  and  he  ar 
ranged  an  interview  with  Hinckley,  who  in  con 
sequence  came  to  Porter's  office  on  the  morning 
of  Saturday,  October  twenty-first. 

"  Good  day,  Mr.  Hinckley,"  began  Porter, 
with  his  usual  cordiality.  Then,  as  soon  as  his 
visitor  was  seated,  he  went  right  into  the  matter 
in  hand.  "  I  asked  you  to  come  here,  because  I 
thought  we  needed  a  little  talk." 

"I've  thought  so  for  some  time  myself,"  was 
the  genial  answer. 

348 


MATTHEW  SORTER  349 

"  Exactly.  Now  I  haven't  a  word  of  fault 
to  find  with  the  way  you  are  conducting  the 
campaign.  Everything  has  been  done  as  it 
ought  to  be  done.  And  yet  —  somehow  I  feel 
that  your  heart  isn't  in  it." 

Hinckley  smiled,  with  perfect  apparent 
frankness.  "Mr.  Porter,"  he  said,  "the  first 
lesson  one  learns  in  politics  —  very  quickly  — 
is  how  and  when  to  lie.  The  second  is  learned, 
only  after  a  long  apprenticeship  —  how  and 
when  to  tell  the  truth.  I've  been  in  the  business 
thirty  years  and  I'm  beginning  to  learn  the 
second  lesson.  This  is  one  of  the  times  for  tell 
ing  the  truth.  You  feel  that  my  heart  isn't  in 
your  campaign.  I  will  answer  you  with  abso 
lute  sincerity  and  say  it  isn't." 

"Thank  you,"  Porter  replied;  and  his  eyes 
showed  he  meant  it.  "  Now  we  shall  get  on. 
Will  you  tell  me  why  your  heart  isn't  in  it? " 

"  That's  what  I'm  here  for.  I've  learned  the 
trade  of  politics  as  it  is,  and  I  don't  like  ideal 
ists  and  reformers.  I  believe  things  in  this  coun 
try,  in  any  democratic  country,  must  be  done 
by  parties.  Discipline  and  order  come  first. 
The  old  traditions  have  got  to  be  respected. 
I  don't  deny  that  you're  a  big  man;  but  I  sus 
pect  in  some  ways  you're  too  big.  And  I'm 
afraid  of  you." 

This  was  said  with  a  smile  that  seemed 
kindly  and  was  received  with  another  of  the 
same  quality.  "  Do  you  know,  I'm  only  afraid 
I'm  not  big  enough.  But  big  or  little,  don't 


350  MATTHEW  'PORTER 

you  think  an  idealist  —  as  you  say  —  may  do 
his  work  within  party  lines?  " 

"  He  may,  but  I  don't  trust  him.  He's  glad 
enough  to  at  first.  Nobody  talks  party  more 
earnestly  than  he,  till  he's  booted  and  spurred 
and  well  in  the  saddle.  Then  you  come  to  a 
rough  bit  of  country,  and  —  pf t  —  he  shows  all 
his  faithful  followers  a  clean  pair  of  heels." 

'  You  are  rather  figurative  in  your  language, 
but  I  think  I  understand  you,"  answered  the 
leader,  again  smiling.  "  I  don't  hesitate  to  say, 
however,  that  I  am  as  firm  a  believer  in  party 
as  you  are.  I  entirely  agree  that  a  government 
like  ours  can't  be  run  except  on  party  lines. 
I  believe  it  so  thoroughly  that  I  don't  complain 
even  when  my  own  party  seems  to  exist  —  as 
it  has  done  hitherto  in  Massachusetts  —  only 
for  the  sake  of  giving  the  other  party  its  own 
way." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  answered  Hinckley, 
more  imperturbably  good-natured  than  ever. 
"  But  I'm  afraid  we  don't  understand  each 
other  quite  so  well  as  you  think.  Or,  no,  I'm 
sure  we  do  understand  each  other  a  great  deal 
better  than  we  say.  That  second  lesson  is  so 
hard  to  learn!  Party  to  you  means  the  grand 
old  principles  —  Jefferson,  Jackson,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  Party  to  me  means  a  lot 
of  men  who  have  helped  you  along  and  want 
to  get  something  for  it.  Do  I  make  myself 
clear?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  was  the  sympathetic  reply. 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  351 

"  Well,  that's  where  I  don't  trust  you." 

"My  gratitude?" 

"  We  don't  say  anything  about  gratitude,  you 
know.  The  talk  is  always  '  principle  '  in  those 
cases.  A  man's  principles  never  prevent  him 
from  climbing  up;  but  it's  odd  how  sometimes 
they  make  him  kick  over  the  ladder  he  climbed 


on." 


Porter  was  somewhat  graver  now,  but  still 
the  smile  had  not  gone  so  far  but  it  might  come 
back.  "  You  don't  recognize  principles  in  poli 
tics,  Mr.  Hinckley?  " 

'  Well,  between  you  and  me,  and  now  we're 
on  the  second  lesson,  I  don't  know  that  I  should 
shake  my  friends  on  principle ;  —  on  interest, 
I  might." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  quite  follow  you  those 
lengths." 

"  No,  and  that's  why  my  heart  isn't  in  your 
campaign." 

The  two  men  sat  quiet  and  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  few  seconds.  "  See  here,  Hinck 
ley,"  began  Porter  at  last.  "  This  is  the  way 
it  stands.  I  believe  I've  got  hold  of  a  big  card. 
If  I  can  play  it  successfully,  I  have  a  future 
before  me  and  the  Democrats  of  Massachusetts 
are  bound  to  get  a  big  slice  of  that  future. 
Now  you  say  you've  been  in  politics  for  thirty 
years,  so  I  assume  you're  not  very  much  under 
fifty.  I  believe  in  your  ability  and  I  believe 
more  in  your  principles  than  you  seem  to.  Get 
me  beaten,  if  you  can,  and  what  is  there  ahead 


352  MATTHEW  SORTER 

of  you?  Just  the  same  old  round  of  Republican 
victories  and  you  rolling  the  same  old  stone  up 
the  same  old  hill,  like  Sisyphus  of  respectable 
memory.  Go  in  with  me,  go  in  whole-hearted, 
and  I  don't  think  you'll  regret  it." 

Hinckley's  smile  was  no  less  kindly  than 
hitherto,  certainly,  but  was  it  any  more  so? 
"  Sounds  well,"  he  answered.  "  Heaven  knows 
I'm  sick  of  that  stone-rolling  business.  But,  as 
I  said  before,  I  don't  trust  you.  Take  a  con 
crete  case."  As  he  spoke,  he  sat  up  and  put 
more  sharpness  into  his  tone.  "  There  are  two 
of  my  heelers,  Billy  Morgan  and  Jake  Ballou. 
They're  good  fellows  and  they'll  do  —  anything 
—  for  me.  They're  laying  off  now,  because  — 
well,  I  didn't  think  they  were  your  kind.  If  I 
set  'em  to  work,  they'll  do  more  than  any  four 
men  you've  got.  Now,  if  you're  elected,  what 
will  those  two  get  out  of  it? " 

Porter's  smile  was  back  again,  as  serene  as 
before,  but  there  may  have  been  a  trifle  of  hard 
ness  in  it.  "  Ballou  I  know  little  about ;  but  I 
don't  like  the  company  he  keeps.  Morgan  I  do 
know.  I've  watched  his  work  at  the  State 
House.  I'll  tell  you  what  he  ought  to  get,  in 
my  opinion,  —  ten  years  in  the  penitentiary. 
Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?  " 

Hinckley's  smile  became  a  laugh,  as  he  rose 
to  go.  "  Oh,  if  we  all  got  what  we  ought,  —  " 
he  said.  "  I  don't  know  that  our  little  talk  has 
helped  much.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Porter." 

Porter  was  inclined  to  think-  that  the  little 


MATTHEW  SORTER  353 

talk  had  helped.  It  seemed  to  him  that  under 
Hinckley's  scepticism  there  was  a  growing  con 
fidence —  not  enthusiasm,  perhaps,  that  was 
hardly  to  be  looked  for  from  the  chairman's 
habits  and  experience;  but  a  feeling  that  Por 
ter's  future  might  have  something  in  it,  after 
all.  The  interview  had  been  useful,  too,  in  con 
firming  Porter's  sense  of  Hinckley's  value.  He 
was  an  old  politician,  doubtless,  thrice  hardened 
in  all  the  tricks  of  the  trade,  cynical  and  in  a 
certain  sense  perfectly  unscrupulous.  But  it 
was  Porter's  theory  that  such  men  had  become 
what  they  were  by  the  vices  of  the  very  system 
he  was  combating.  Open  executive  responsi 
bility,  free  public  legislative  discussion,  would 
give  their  intelligence  and  abilities  a  far  wider 
chance  for  development  and  success;  and  he 
believed  that,  if  he  could  once  get  his  ideas  into 
practical  working,  Hinckley  and  those  like  him 
would  be  the  first  to  see  the  advantage  and 
profit  by  it. 

All  this  he  explained  briefly  to  Viola,  in  a 
conversation  they  had  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
adding  that  he  believed  not  much  was  required 
to  bring  Hinckley  into  hearty  support. 

Viola  thought  a  moment.  "  What  if  I  talked 
to  him?  "  she  said. 

"  You? " 
«  j  » 

Porter's  face  displayed  an  amount  of  disgust 
unusual  for  him.  "  I  couldn't  have  you  do  that 
sort  of  thing,"  he  said. 


354  MATTHEW  SORTER 

"What  sort  of  thing?." 

"  Why,  everybody  knows  that  Hinckley's  one 
ambition  is  to  get  into  the  top  set  socially.  He's 
cumbered  with  a  wife  who  used  to  be  his  cook 
and  nobody  will  have  much  to  do  with  him. 
Burke  and  Dillworthy  are  close  enough  to  him 
politically;  but  Burke  would  never  have  him  at 
his  house  and  Dillworthy  only  when  he  can't 
help  it.  He  would  do  anything  —  literally  — 
to  come  here.  But  —  the  idea  is  very  unpleas 
ant  to  me." 

"  Nonsense,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "  There's 
nothing  wrong  about  it.  You  say  the  man  is 
just  ready  to  join  us  anyway.  You  say  he  may 
be  very  useful.  And  I  understand  that  you 
really  begin  to  have  a  certain  liking  for  him, 
haven't  you? " 

"Why,  yes.  I  believe,  now,  that  he's  more 
capable  of  understanding  my  ideas  than  any  of 
them,  unless  Smith,  and  much  more  tactful  than 
Smith  for  carrying  them  out.  But  yet  —  that 
you  —  with  your  habits  and  traditions  —  should 
condescend  —  " 

"  It  isn't  condescension,"  Viola  interrupted, 
"  it's  ascension,  to  be  working  in  any  honest  way 
for  the  cause  I'm  working  for.  I'm  not  the 
slave  of  my  habits  and  traditions  —  never  have 
been.  And  between  ourselves  I  imagine  I  had 
quite  as  lief  have  Mrs.  Hinckley  in  my  house 
as  Mrs.  Burke.  Say  no  more  about  it,  please, 
till  it's  done." 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  355 

"  Another  tabooed  subject? "  he  answered, 
smiling. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  smiling  back,  with  a  little 
embarrassment  and,  he  thought,  a  little  tender 
ness.  "  Another,  but  there  are  plenty  left." 
And  she  plunged  into  some  technical  point  af 
fecting  the  next  "  Democrat  "  letter. 

Monday  morning  Hinckley  received  a  note 
asking  if  he  could  find  time  to  call  on  Miss 
Buckingham  that  evening  and  if  not,  when  he 
could  do  so.  The  first  reading  of  the  note  made 
it  all  clear  to  him;  but  none  the  less  the  invita 
tion  was  agreeable.  It  was  perfectly  true  that 
his  dearest  ambitions  were  social  rather  than 
political.  He  was  a  man  of  keen  wit  and  ready 
discourse,  naturally  gay,  sensitive,  emotional, 
eminently  alive  to  the  charm  of  women's  com 
pany  and  women's  talk.  Every  hour  of  the  day 
he  cursed  his  marriage,  which  had  cut  him  off 
from  these  things,  and  nearly  every  hour  the 
unhappy  partner  of  it,  audibly.  And  he  not 
only  wanted  society,  he  wanted  the  best.  The 
Burkes  and  Dillworthys  would  not  have  satis 
fied  him,  if  he  could  have  had  them.  He  wanted 
real  refinement,  real  cultivation,  real  charm. 
He  wanted  Viola  and  her  set  —  nothing  else. 
Perhaps  nothing  had  impressed  him  more  with 
a  sense  of  Porter's  power  than  the  fact  that  he 
had  made  his  way  into  that  set  and  established 
himself  there. 

Now  the  doors  opened  wide  of  their  own  ac- 


356  MATTHEW  SORTER 

cord.  It  was  for  no  merit  or  personal  charm 
of  his  own.  He  understood  that  well  enough 
—  or  thought  he  did.  It  was  a  clear  case  of 
corruption,  an  attempt  to  sap  his  old  Roman 
civic  virtue  by  the  soft  grace  of  feminine  cajol 
ery.  He  could  not  tell  at  first  how  it  would 
please  him  to  take  it.  His  sweetest  satisfaction 
might  be  to  stand  rock-like,  immovable,  and  let 
the  cooing  waves  of  seduction  break  over  him 
with  perfect  ineffectiveness.  Or  he  might  — 

A  little  after  eight  o'clock  he  found  himself 
in  Viola's  reception-room,  alone  with  her;  and 
one  glance  at  her  royal  figure  in  its  dark  brown 
satin,  at  her  grave  and  lofty  face,  showed  his 
quick  sensibility  that  here  was  no  cheap  device 
of  social  cunning,  no  vulgar  elaboration  of  femi 
nine  artifice,  such  as  he  himself  had  so  often 
made  use  of  against  others.  A  strange  excite 
ment  possessed  him  to  think  that  a  woman  like 
this  should  have  condescended  from  her  sphere 
sufficiently  to  care  whether  a  man  of  his  stamp 
was  working  on  one  side  or  on  the  other. 

Viola  approached  her  subject  at  once.  "  Mr. 
Hinckley,  I  am  very  much  interested  in  Mr. 
Porter's  campaign.  I  have  become  an  enthusi 
astic  convert  to  his  ideas  and  I  want  to  see  him 
in  a  position  to  carry  them  out.  Now  he  tells 
me  that  you  believe  in  frankness,  when  the  occa 
sion  calls  for  it.  Will  you  be  frank  with  me? " 

4 1  will  try,"  was  the  quiet  answer,  and  Viola 
liked  the  tone  of  it  and  felt  that  if  the  man  was 
seeking  social  success,  he  had  tact  enough  not 


MATTHEW  SORTER  357 

to  be  vulgar,  or  fawning,  or  presumptuous,  in 
his  quest. 

"  Thank  you.  Tell  me  first,  then,  whether 
you  really  believe  in  Mr.  Porter  and  are  doing 
all  you  can  for  him." 

Hinckley  laughed,  a  very  courteous,  sympa 
thetic  laugh.  "  You  propose  to  put  my  frank 
ness  to  the  test,  don't  you?  But  it  will  stand 
it  and  I  tell  you  at  once  that  I  haven't  made 
up  my  mind  about  Porter.  Three  months  ago 
I  should  have  said  he  was  just  such  a  mushroom 
as  I  have  seen  dozens  of  in  my  career,  shooting 
up  in  a  night  nearly  to  the  tree-tops  —  and  gone 
the  next  night.  I  don't  feel  quite  so  sure  now." 

Viola  followed  his  deliberate  speech  with  the 
most  watchful  attention.  "  Exactly,"  she  said. 
"  The  more  you  see  of  him,  the  less  sure  you 
will  be.  There's  nothing  of  the  mushroom  about 
him.  Did  you  never  notice  that  there's  a  certain 
stage  in  the  building  of  a  house  when  it  seems 
to  go  up  all  at  once?  But  that  is  only  seeming. 
The  part  of  the  work  that  counts  is  the  slow 
laying  of  the  foundation  before  and  the  careful 
finish  after.  Mr.  Porter's  movement  of  reform 
is  just  now  at  that  stage  of  conspicuous  growth. 
But  it  has  a  long  foundation  of  slow  thought 
behind  it  and  will  have  a  full  period  of  develop 
ment  in  the  final  working  out." 

Hinckley  observed  at  once  that  she  was  care 
ful  to  speak  of  the  ideas  and  not  the  man. 
Nevertheless  he  suspected  that  her  heart  was 
more  full  of  the  man  than  of  the  ideas.  It 


358  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

somewhat  increased  his  envy  of  her  hero,  but 
it  increased  his  respect  far  more.  Nothing  of 
this  went  into  his  speech,  however.  '  You'll 
think  me  very  old-fashioned,"  he  said,  "  but 
long  experience  has  made  me  suspicious  of  all 
this  talk  about  reform.  Either  the  reformer 
is  looking  to  nothing  but  his  own  pocket  — 
which  I  consider  out  of  the  question  in  Porter's 
case,  or  he  wants  everything  his  own  way  and 
is  utterly  impatient  of  party  discipline.  Now 
I  myself  believe  in  parties.  But  probably  that 
is  too  technical  a  view  for  a  lady." 

Viola  answered  with  decision,  but  without  the 
least  impatience.  "  Don't  think  of  me  as  a 
lady,  please.  During  the  last  six  months  I've 
given  all  my  thoughts  to  the  technicalities  of 
.politics  and  the  more  technical  they  are,  the 
more  they  interest  me,  I  think  everybody  who 
has  considered  the  subject  will  agree  with  you 
about  the  importance  of  parties.  Nothing  can 
be  done  without  them.  At  the  same  time  a 
great  man  will  always  be  larger  than  his  party, 
will  strain  and  stretch  it  till  the  seams  crack 
open.  Only  if  he  is  a  really  great  man,  he  will 
take  his  party  with  him.  It  will  groan  and 
grumble,  but  it  will  follow.  It  will  grow  slowly 
to  his  ideas,  but  it  will  grow  to  them.  Now  I 
believe,  and  I  think  you  believe,  in  your  heart  of 
hearts,  Mr.  Hinckley,  that  Mr.  Porter  is  a 
really  great  man.  He  has  the  magnetism  which 
draws  men  and  draws  votes.  More  than  that, 
he  has  a  project  which  he  is  convinced  will  do 


MATTHEW  SORTER  359 

more  to  make  popular  government  in  this  coun 
try  clean,  strong,  and  effective,  than  anything 
that  has  ever  yet  been  tried.  If  he  succeeds,  he 
will  give  his  party  a  prestige  that  it  hasn't  had 
for  nearly  a  century.  And  surely  if  the  Democ 
racy  of  Massachusetts  —  we  won't  say  anything 
about  the  United  States  —  ever  needed  such  a 
man  and  such  an  idea,  it  does  now.  Isn't  it 
better  to  take  the  chance  of  a  few  vagaries,  a 
little  waywardness  —  mind,  I  don't  believe  there 
is  any  such  chance  —  but  wouldn't  it  be  better 
to  take  it,  if  there  were,  and  win  and  do  a  great 
work  for  the  party  and  the  country  both,  than 
to  go  on  playing  an  idle  game  in  which  the 
Republicans  have  all  the  dice  loaded?  " 

She  paused  a  moment.  Then,  as  she  could 
see  he  was  listening  to  her  with  all  his  ears  — 
and  eyes,  although  he  made  no  answer,  she 
went  on.  "  But,  of  course,  the  first  thing  for 
Mr.  Porter  to  do  is  to  get  the  party  together, 
to  unite  all  the  different  elements  in  earnest, 
loyal  support  of  him  and  his  ideas.  It's  only 
so  that  we  can  make  a  strong,  united,  irresistible 
fight  against  the  Republicans.  Now,  Mr. 
Hinckley,  why  don't  you  come  to  us  unre 
servedly?  Take  sides  with  Mr.  Porter  for  good 
or  evil.  Make  his  idea  your  idea,  his  victory 
your  victory.  If  we  lose,  you're  no  worse  off 
than  now.  If  we  win  —  and  we  shall  win  —  you 
win  with  us  and  open  for  yourself  a  future  of 
real  usefulness,  real  activity,  real  success.  Apart 
from  Mr.  Porter,  where  is  your  future?" 


360  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Through  the  noble  restraint,  the  quiet  dig 
nity  which  she  always  kept  about  her  like  a 
queenly  garment,  there  shone  and  throbbed  such 
a  fiery  exultation,  such  a  rapturous  prophecy  of 
approaching  triumph  as  would  have  moved 
stolider  nerves  than  she  had  now  to  deal  with, 
and  it  was  a  moment  before  Hinckley  could 
command  himself  to  answer  in  as  calm  a  tone 
as  he  wished. 

"  You  have  only  told  me  —  in  larger  fashion 
—  what  I  have  for  some  time  been  telling  my 
self,"  he  said  at  length.  "  But  I  am  old,  Miss 
Buckingham,  and  crusted  all  over,  like  a  bar 
nacled  rock,  with  the  sharp  tricks  of  my  trade. 
At  fifty  a  man  like  me  has  one  fear  that  is  more 
than  almost  any  other  fear,  the  fear  of  being 
fooled.  I've  seen  so  many  pretty  ships  go  down, 
I've  opened  so  many  whited  sepulchres  and 
found  them  full  of  rottenness,  I've  probed  so 
many  human  hearts  and  turned  up  nothing  but 
lies,  tricks,  greed,  selfishness,  cruelty  —  how  can 
you  expect  me  to  believe  in  anybody  or  any 
thing?  I  am  amazed  that  you  have  the  power 
to  make  me  sit  here  and  talk  as  if  it  were  possi 
ble." 

"And  why  is  it?"  she  interrupted  earnestly. 
"  Because  I  speak  to  you  as  if  there  were  some 
thing  in  your  heart  and  mine  besides  lies  and 
rottenness.  You've  probed  the  wrong  hearts, 
opened  the  showy  sepulchres,  watched  only  the 
ships  that  were  gay,  not  those  that  were  stout 
and  seaworthy.  It's  the  broad  experience  that 


MATTHEW  SORTER  361 

you  have,  call  it,  if  you  like,  cynical,  that  will 
make  you  of  use  to  us;  for  nobody  can  govern 
the  world  without  fit  arms  to  battle  with  its 
tricks  and  lies.  But  I  say  to  you  fairly,  Mr. 
Hinckley,  that  I  should  not  have  asked  you  to 
come  here  if  I  had  believed  you  to  be  a  mere 
time-serving,  tricky,  unscrupulous  politician  and 
nothing  more.  Mr.  Porter  told  me  in  so  many 
words  that  he  thought  you  more  capable  of 
understanding  his  ideas  and  more  tactful  for 
carrying  them  out  than  any  man  he  knew.  He 
believes  that  men  of  your  stamp  become  machine 
politicians  simply  because  our  system  does  not 
allow  them  to  become  anything  else.  His  sys 
tem  would  encourage  them,  would  compel  them 
to  be  something  else.  He  wants  you  to  help 
him  try  it.  Will  you?  " 

"  Did  Porter  say  that  of  me?  "  asked  Hinck 
ley,  in  a  low,  toneless  voice.  "  If  you  say  so, 
I  believe  he  did.  I  don't  think  you  are  making 
a  fool  of  me  —  nor  he." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Hinckley  looked 
down  at  the  carpet,  absorbed  in  thought.  Viola 
looked  at  him.  "  Miss  Buckingham,"  he  said 
finally,  "  it's  a  good  deal  of  a  decision  to  make, 
but  I  have  made  it  now,  once  for  all.  I  shall 
work  for  Porter  after  this  —  honestly.  I  won't 
pretend  there's  a  great  deal  of  unselfishness 
about  it,  you  know.  You're  quite  right  in  say 
ing  that  I  don't  see  much  before  me  in  any 
other  direction.  I've  been  coming  gradually  to 
believe  that  Porter  is  a  big  man,  and  now  I've 


362  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

seen  the  enthusiasm  he's  been  able  to  inspire  in 
a  woman  like  you,  I  believe  it  more  than  ever. 
I  can't  change  my  nature,  but  I  mean  what  I 
say.  I  shall  work  for  Porter  after  this  — 
honestly  —  to  the  best  of  my  ability." 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

FLITTERS  had  persuaded  Viola  to  give  a 
masquerade  party  on  the  last  Friday  evening 
but  one  before  the  election.  "  We  must  divert 
our  minds  from  politics,"  he  said.  "  And  the 
only  way  to  divert  a  woman's  mind  is  to  give 
her  a  costume  to  think  about." 

So  the  maskers  gathered  as  thick  as  a  flock 
of  autumn  blackbirds  in  a  field  of  corn,  as  thick 
and  as  noisy,  but  by  no  means  so  uniform  in 
colouring.  Now  and  then  there  was  black: 
Viola  herself,  who,  as  hostess,  wore  no  mask, 
was  dressed  in  black  velvet,  full  Elizabethan 
costume,  with  a  ruff  and  stomacher  that  would 
not  have  displeased  the  Virgin  Queen.  But  all 
about  her  were  colours  infinite,  green,  gold,  and 
azure,  scarlet,  rose,  and  sombre  purple,  the  long 
wave  of  white  plumes,  the  flash  of  jewels,  a 
subtle,  strange,  bewildering  maze  of  sudden 
lights  and  gleaming  shadows. 

And  every  one  waltzed  —  in  one  inextricable 
whirl  of  discordant  shapes  and  ill-assorted  hues, 
couple  after  couple  uniting  contrasts  beyond  the 
wildest  dreams  of  fevered  fancy,  a  haughty 
Spanish  cavalier  with  a  trained  nurse,  a  nautch- 
girl  with  a  cowboy,  a  grinning  satyr  with  a 

363 


364  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Puritan  maiden,  an  oozy  sea  god  with  a  humble 
daughter  of  the  Salvation  Army,  all  whirled 
and  whirled,  like  a  top  whipped  again  and  again 
by  the  long,  writhing  lash  of  the  voluptuous 
music. 

Viola  herself  swung  slowly  round  for  a  little 
while  with  a  clown  whose  motion  was  as  light 
and  as  largely  rhythmical  as  her  own.  But  she 
was  more  intent  on  hospitable  duties  than  on 
dancing. 

"  George,"  she  said,  "  I  can't  quite  make  them 
all  out.  Can  you?  " 

"Nearly  all.    Enough." 

"  The  astrologer?  " 

"  Hinckley." 

"  Good.  He  came  then.  And  Mrs.  Hinck 
ley?  " 

"  Not  here,  I  should  say." 

"  Ah,  I'm  sorry.  Yet  perhaps  this  isn't  quite 
the  occasion." 

"  Not  quite." 

Another  planetary  revolution  and  Viola  asked 
again:  "The  witch?" 

"  Constance." 

"  I  was  afraid  so,  though  I  don't  know  who 
invited  her.  She  won't  make  a  scene,  will  she?  " 

"  About  me?  I  ask  you,  could  any  one  make 
a  scene  about  me?  " 

'  You  are  just  the  kind  to  make  a  scene 
about  —  and  she  the  kind  to  make  one." 

"What  can  I  do?" 

"  Nothing." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  365 

"  Just  so.  And  she  will  do  the  same.  What 
a  pity  Porter  couldn't  come!" 

"  I  hope  he  will  for  a  little  while  later.  His 
Cambridge  speech  ought  to  be  over  by  ten. 
George,  those  street  musicians,  I  suppose  — ? " 

"  Ruth  and  Eugene.  I  fancy  that  will  come 
to  something  to-night." 

"  I  don't  like  it,  George." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  think  it's  suitable." 

"  Oh,  Lord,  is  marriage  ever  suitable  —  un 
less  yours  and  Porter's  might  be.  I  stirred 
Eugene  up  to  it  myself.  He  was  talking  to  me 
this  afternoon,  said  he  had  been  wild  to  speak 
to  her  ever  since  they  got  back  to  town.  I  said, 
*  Why  don't  you? '  He  said,  '  I'm  not  fit  to  kiss 
her  shoes.'  I  said,  *  It  isn't  necessary.  You're 
a  genius  —  a  wandering  voice.'  He  said,  *  But 
the  rest  of  me  ? '  I  said,  '  That's  very  true ;  but 
with  her  the  rest  of  you  doesn't  count.  She 
lives  in  her  imagination  and  always  will.  Apart 
from  your  music  you're  a  commonplace  crea 
ture;  but  so  are  all  musicians,  and  so  is  she.  In 
the  music  world  you're  getting  to  be  a  big  thing 
—  since  "  Mosquitos  " :  engagements  to  play  in 
concerts  everywhere,  stories  in  the  newspapers, 
jealousy  from  all  the  other  "  artists,"  fools 
tumbling  over  each  other  to  take  lessons  of  you. 
You're  it  —  going  to  be  very  much  itter  — 
she'll  fall  into  your  arms.' ' 

So  she  was  doing,  as  much,  at  least,  as  she 
could,  in  that  company.  Eugene  had  come  de- 


366  MATTHEW  SORTER 

termined  to  speak  and  Ruth  determined,  so  far 
as  was  consistent  with  her  unquestioned  maiden- 
liness,  to  give  him  the  opportunity,  which  she 
knew  perfectly  well  he  had  long  been  seeking. 
He  certainly  had  not  intended  to  mix  love  and 
waltzes,  but  the  words  were  so  ready,  her  ear, 
her  round,  pink,  delicious  ear,  so  close  to  his  lips, 
that  love  flowed  into  it,  as  from  a  vase  overfull. 
"  I  love  you,  Ruth,  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love 
you."  His  arm  pressed  her  perhaps  more  closely 
than  beseems  decorous  dancing;  but  her  hand 
returned  the  pressure  of  his,  and  they  danced 
on,  on,  under  the  quivering  spell  of  the  rich 
waltz  music,  as  if  there  were  nothing  but  them 
selves,  and  their  motion,  and  their  love  in  the 
whole  wide  world. 

Wingate,  appropriately  arrayed  in  the  thou- 
sand-tongued  surcoat  of  Rumour,  discontentedly 
divined  their  measureless  content  and  murmured 
his  complaints  to  Viola,  who  had  sent  Flitters 
away  from  her  on  some  errand  of  mercy. 

"Do  you  think  she  will  marry  him?"  Win- 
gate  asked. 

"  I  think  so,  fear  so,"  Viola  answered,  sympa 
thetic,  yet  anxious  not  to  encourage  false  hopes. 

"Why?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  ever  so  slightly, 
yet  with  vast  suggestion  of  the  inconsequent 
possibilities  of  amorous  folly.  Then  she  changed 
the  subject.  "  Has  anything  been  heard  from 
Governor  Powers?  " 

Governor  Powers  was  an  ancient  Republican 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  367 

who  was  known  to  be  much  dissatisfied  with  his 
party's  course  both  in  national  and  state  affairs. 
The  Porterites  nourished  not  unfounded  hopes 
that  he  would  come  out  on  their  side.  If  he  did 
so,  his  influence  would  be  most  important. 

Wingate  was  not  interested  in  Governor 
Powers  just  then;  but  he  had  to  answer. 
"  Powers?  Oh,  yes.  Nothing  definite  as  yet. 
We  sent  a  reporter  to  him  this  afternoon,  and 
I  told  them  to  call  me  up,  if  they  heard  any 
thing." 

"  It  would  be  a  great  help,  if  he  would  come 
out  squarely  and  strongly,  wouldn't  it?  " 

"  Five  thousand  votes,  I  should  say,  at  least." 

Meanwhile  the  clown  had  discovered  Flora 
disguised  as  Flora,  with  charming  intentional 
infelicity.  She  of  course  also  knew  him;  but 
each  was  careful  to  pretend  absolute  ignorance 
of  the  other's  identity.  It  was  gayer  so. 

"  O  goddess  of  freshness  and  verdure,"  said 
the  clown,  "  up-stairs  there  are  palms,  rare  or 
chids,  ferns,  soft  moss,  blossoms  without  end, 
fountains  murmuring,  quaint,  strange  nooks  of 
woodland  witchery.  You  belong  up  there,  not 
in  this  hurly-burly  of  light  and  dust  and  odious 
mortality.  Will  you  come?" 

She  nodded  and  followed  him  up  the  wide 
stairs  into  the  great  parlour,  which,  as  he  said, 
had  been  filled  with  flowers  and  dim  shapes  of 
greenness.  At  the  moment  the  room  was  unoc 
cupied  and  they  seated  themselves  in  a  quiet 


368  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

nook,  on  a  rustic  bench,  with  a  little  fountain 
plashing  close  beside  them. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  who  you  were,"  said  the 
clown,  gazing  abstractedly  at  his  companion's 
mask. 

"  So  do  I,"  agreed  the  goddess  with  fervour. 
"Who  does,  in  this  bewildering  world?  What 
is  it  to  be  I  or  you?  " 

But  the  clown  had  no  taste  for  metaphysics. 
"  You  might  be  Flora  Chantrey,  I  should  think ; 
but  she  is  too  intelligent  to  disguise  herself  so 
obviously." 

"  Of  course  she  is.  Just  as  you  might  be 
Flitters;  only  it  would  be  no  disguise  for  him 
to  be  a  clown." 

The  fountain  murmured.  The  music  down 
stairs  flared  and  crashed.  The  witch  Constance, 
unheard  in  the  crash  of  it,  had  slipped  behind 
a  palm  and  was  listening  with  all  her  soul. 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Flora  and 
Flitters  might  make  a  match,"  the  clown  sug 
gested,  taking  a  rosebud  from  the  goddess's 
basket  and  picking  it  to  pieces. 

"  A  love  match?    Have  you?  " 

"  What  other  kind  of  match?  " 

"  Can  either  of  them  love?  Can  one  love  and 
laugh  too? " 

"  The  best  kind  of  love,  I  think.  The  other 
kind  flames  and  burns  —  out.  But  that  which 
has  the  golden  threads  of  laughter  woven  all 
through  it  gets  the  permanence  of  laughter,  its 
immortal  sunshine." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  369 

"  Flitters  would  hardly  speak  so  seriously  of 
laughter,"  suggested  the  flowery  deity. 

"  Flitters  can  be  more  serious  than  the  seri 
ous —  when  it  befits,"  was  the  gentle  reply. 

Again  there  was  no  sound  but  the  plash  of 
the  water  and  the  wild  waltz  music. 

"  You  are  a  goddess,"  began  the  clown  once 
more,  "  and  know  women's  thoughts.  Would 
Flora  marry  Flitters,  in  spite  of  his  fantastic 
foolery?  May  I  tell  him  so?  " 

"  Are  you  commissioned  to  speak  for  him?  " 

"  Yes." 

"If  she  married  him  —  it  would  be  —  because 
of  his  foolery.  Tell  him  —  tell  him  —  Oh,  we'll 
say  —  if  Mr.  Porter  is  elected  —  perhaps  she'll 
consider  it.  Chance  should  rule  these  matters." 

But  the  witch  burst  out  upon  them  now,  red, 
fiery,  furious.  "  I've  heard  it  all,"  she  cried. 
'  What  fools  you  make  of  each  other.  And 
what  a  fool  you  let  him  make  of  you,  Flora 
Chantrey.  Do  you  suppose  he  ever  cared  for 
any  one  or  wanted  anything  but  a  subject  for 
his  foolish  jokes?  Jokes!  Jokes!  Always  jokes! 
Is  life  a  joke?  Is  love  a  joke?  I  haven't  found 
it  so.  And  you  won't  either  always." 

She  stood  before  them,  raising  her  arms  in 
admirably,  though  unintentionally  witchlike  ges 
ticulation,  hissing  her  words  through  her  mask, 
like  the  hiss  of  serpents.  The  two  doubted 
whether  to  laugh  or  weep,  longed  for  some  de 
vice  to  quiet  her,  but  knew  not  how. 

Just  then   Viola  appeared,   having   come  in 


370  MATTHEW  SORTER 

search  of  Flitters,  and  heard  Constance's  last 
sentence  or  two.  "  Constance,"  she  began  im 
ploringly,  "  Constance." 

But  the  witch  was  worked  into  all  the  fury 
of  a  dull  person  completely  thrown  off  her  bal 
ance,  who  has  brooded  on  herself  and  her 
wrongs  till  she  can  think  of  nothing  else.  She 
turned  on  Viola.  "  You're  as  bad  as  they  are," 
she  cried,  "  worse.  You  encourage  them  in  all 
their  folly,  their  cruel  jokes,  cruel,  cruel.  It  is 
you  who  brought  me  here,  who  put  me  in  his 
way,  helped  him  play  all  his  cruel  tricks  on  me, 
cruel,  cruel.  But  I'll  be  even  with  you,  I  know 
your  secret.  I  know  well  enough  that  he  writes 
those  '  Democrat '  letters.  Why  haven't  they 
been  smart  enough  to  see  it?  Who  else  could 
write  them?  But  they  shall  know  it  now.  I'll 
tell  them.  And  I  guess  people  won't  read  them 
so  much,  when  they  find  they're  written  by 
somebody  who  cares  no  more  for  Porter  than 
he  does  for  me  or  for  Flora  Chantrey  or  for 
anything  but  his  jokes.  Oh,  yes,  I'm  going 
now,"  she  said  to  Viola,  who  was  vainly  trying 
to  soothe  her.  "  I'm  going  now.  I've  said  all 
I've  got  to  say.  I  never  want  to  see  any  of  you 
again." 

She  turned  and  hurried  off,  Viola  following 
in  a  vain  attempt  at  pacification.  Flora  and 
Flitters  eyed  each  other  through  their  masks, 
stonily,  in  dumb  amazement. 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Flora. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  371 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  told  me.  I  don't  know  that 
that  helps  it  much.  Was  I  to  blame,  Flora?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  What  else  could  you  have 
done,  being  what  you  are?  But  those  'Demo 
crat'  letters  —  will  she  tell?  Did  you  write 
them?" 

"Write  them?  No.  How  absurd!  Why 
should  I  care  what  she  does?  " 

She  had  never  seen  him  so  moved  and  he  had 
never  known  in  her  before  anything  of  the  gen 
tleness  with  which  she  reassured  and  comforted 
him.  It  was  terribly  unfortunate,  but  of  course 
he  was  not  to  blame.  It  was  all  Constance's 
unreasonable  folly.  And  thus  in  their  love  some 
strands  of  soberer  feeling  came  to  mingle  with 
the  tissue  of  laughter  which  had  hitherto  per 
haps  been  rather  glittering  than  substantial. 

All  that  Viola  could  accomplish  with  Con 
stance  was  to  get  her  safely  out  of  the  house 
with  as  little  demonstration  as  possible.  When 
this  was  done,  the  hostess  returned  to  have  some 
explanation  with  her  cousin  and  to  say  a  judi 
cious  word  or  two  to  such  friends  as  would  be 
most  useful  in  allaying  vulgar  curiosity.  She 
had  not  had  time  to  carry  out  this  intention 
fully,  however,  when  she  was  told  that  a  visitor 
was  inquiring  for  her  in  the  hall. 

What  visitor?  Going  out  as  soon  as  she 
could,  whom  should  she  find  but  Clara  Porter, 
dress  suit  case  in  hand,  waiting  quietly  amid  the 
kaleidoscopic  passage  of  masked  figures  in  all 


372  MATTHEW  SORTER 

the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  who  must  have 
seemed  to  her  like  the  weird  phantasmagoria 
of  a  fevered  dream. 

The  whole  evening  was  beginning  to  seem 
such  to  Viola.  She  had  long  been  planning  a 
visit  from  Miss  Porter,  but  had  thought  it  was 
postponed  until  a  week  later.  Nevertheless  her 
manner  was  the  perfection  of  cordiality.  "  Dear 
Miss  Porter,  isn't  this  delightful!  You  won't 
mind  our  frivolities,  will  you?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  misunderstood  and  you  weren't 
expecting  me,"  answered  the  quiet  lady  in  black. 
"  I  had  not  expected  to  come,  until  this  after 
noon.  Then  I  reread  your  letter  and  thought 
you  must  have  meant  to-day.  So  I  took  the 
evening  train  and  there  was  an  accident  which 
delayed  us  for  nearly  two  hours.  It  was  all 
very  stupid." 

Viola  was  entirely  herself  now.  :<  Why 
should  you  explain  or  apologize?  The  only 
thing  of  importance  is  that  you  are  here  —  and 
I  am  so  glad.  Come  right  up-stairs  first  and 
make  yourself  at  home." 

"But  I  can't  take  you  away  from  your 
guests." 

"  Nonsense.  My  guests  can  get  along  very 
well  without  me  for  a  few  moments.  George,  be 
host  for  me." 

She  accompanied  her  visitor  to  her  room  and 
chatted  with  her,  while  she  removed  her  wraps. 
'You'll  come  down-stairs  now  —  for  a  time, 
at  any  rate,  won't  you? "  Viola  asked. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  373 

Miss  Porter  would  have  greatly  preferred  to 
stay  by  herself  and  said  so,  alleging  her  utterly 
unsuitable  garb;  but  she  could  not  resist  Viola's 
gentle  solicitation.  "  Of  course  I  can  explain 
just  how  you  came.  It  will  amuse  you,  I  am 
sure,"  she  urged.  "  And  then  your  brother  will 
be  in  by  and  by.  I  should  like  you  to  see  how 
much  they  all  think  of  him." 

So  the  two  went  down  again  to  the  music- 
room.  When  they  arrived,  Flitters  was  just 
making  a  speech.  The  reaction  from  the  shock 
of  Constance's  outbreak  seemed  to  have  made 
him  more  gay,  more  eager,  more  petulant,  than 
ever.  At  the  first  pause  in  the  dancing,  after 
Viola's  departure,  he  mounted  a  chair,  pro 
claimed  the  absence  of  the  hostess,  and  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  taking  her  place  and 
addressing  the  company  on  the  subject  which 
at  the  moment  was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of 
all.  "  I  planned  this  party,"  he  said,  "  to  give 
us  diversion  from  politics.  But  evidently  it  was 
useless.  You  talk  of  nothing  else.  I  see  a  red 
Indian  and  a  ballet  girl  get  together  in  a  corner 
and  I  know  they  are  discussing,  not  love,  but 
Porter's  chances.  An  astrologer  confers  with  a 
Greek  god,  not  about  the  mysterious  motions  of 
the  stars,  but  about  the  more  mysterious  mental 
processes  of  ex -Governor  Powers.  So,  on  the 
whole,  I  think  it  best  to  speak  out.  If  you  must 
have  politics,  I'll  give  you  enough  of  them." 

Then  he  proceeded  to  adduce  a  dozen  ironical 
reasons  why  the  present  company  should  vote 


374  MATTHEW  SORTER 

for  Porter  and  rejoice  in  his  election.  In  the 
full  tide  of  his  oratory,  he  saw  the  quiet  black 
figure  of  Miss  Porter  enter  the  room  at  Viola's 
side;  but  this  only  stirred  him  to  redoubled 
eloquence. 

"  Yes,  the  new  governor  is  supremely  intel 
ligent,  we  all  know  that,  and  that  makes  me 
confident  that  he  will  succeed,  in  spite  of  his 
present  undeniable  honesty.  Only  the  dull  are 
honest  in  politics.  The  keen-witted  see  soon 
enough  where  their  advantage  lies.  They  see 
that  it  is  impossible  to  get  on  in  this  free  and 
noble  country  without  fraud  and  corruption. 
They  see  that  the  mob  is  ruled  by  bribery  in 
the  gross  and  the  rich  by  bribery  in  detail,  and 
both  by  abject  flattery;  and  they  bribe  and 
flatter.  So  will  Porter  —  in  time,  and  succeed, 
and  we  shall  profit. 

"  Another  excellence :  as  we  all  know,  the 
governor  totally  lacks  the  sense  of  humour.  I 
couldn't  honestly  vote  for  him  if  he  had  it. 
I  should  regard  his  future  as  hopeless.  No 
American  politician  can  really  succeed  with  a 
sense  of  humour.  The  lying,  the  fawning,  the 
stealing,  why,  even  the  mere  hand-shaking,  can 
not  possibly  be  done  with  the  proper  gravity,  if 
a  man  sees  the  comedy  of  it  all. 

"  And  the  best  is  that  Governor  Porter  will 
provide  so  much  comedy  for  those  who  appre 
ciate  it.  He  is  a  reformer.  Think  of  the  mass 
of  absurdity  that  huddles  in  the  word.  When 
the  great  comic  dramatist  of  heaven  is  minded 


JttATTHEW  SORTER  375 

to  crowd  this  earthly  stage  most  fully  with 
Aristophanic  pleasantry,  he  takes  some  hyper- 
solemn  and  serious  puppet  and  fills  him  with 
the  swelling  raptures  of  reform.  And  the  Phil 
istine  stands  open-eyed  and  open-mouthed  in 
horror,  and  good  conservative  philanthropists 
rail,  and  political  sneak  thieves  ply  their  trade 
in  redoubled  security,  and  the  wise  smile  sadly. 
Reform!  Reform!  More  lives  have  been  sacri 
ficed,  more  good,  sober,  ordinary  men  and 
women  shut  up  in  madhouses,  more  sanctuaries 
profaned  and  more  profanity  sanctified  in  the 
name  of  Reform,  than  of  all  other  fantastic, 
imperious,  nautical,  and  juggernautical  deities 
put  together.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  call 
upon  every  mother's  son  and  daughter  of  you 
to  vote,  as  I  shall,  for  Porter  and  Reform. 
Band,  play  us  '  America '  and  we'll  all  sing," 

When  the-  singing  was  over,  Viola,  having 
given  Miss  Porter  in  charge  to  Wingate,  found 
her  cousin.  "  George,  will  you  ask  them  all  to 
go  up  to  the  supper-room  and  to  unmask  as 
soon  as  they  get  there?  And,  George,  I  hope 
you'll  apologize  to  Miss  Porter  for  your  tirade. 
And,  George,  was  it,  anyway,  very  discreet  of 
you,  after  the  events  of  the  evening?  " 

"  Discreet?  No.  Do  you  expect  me  to  be 
discreet?  I'm  depressed  —  very." 

"  It  hath  not  appeared." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  am  determined  it  sha'n't. 
But  discreet!  The  more  depressed  I  am,  the 
less  discreet.  By  the  way,"  in  a  hurried  whis- 


376  MATTHEW  SORTER 

per,  "  who  does  write  those  '  Democrat '  letters, 
Viola? " 

"Hush!   I  do." 

"  I  thought  so.     But  I  won't  mention  it." 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't." 

In  the  supper-room  Flitters  devoted  himself, 
as  directed,  to  apologizing  to  Miss  Porter.  "  I 
hope  you  didn't  mind  my  nonsense,"  he  said. 
"  I  worship  your  brother." 

The  white-haired  lady  smiled  her  simple, 
saintly  smile.  "  Is  everything  you  say  to  be 
interpreted  by  contraries?" 

"  Not  what  I  say  in  private.  My  public  ut 
terances  have  exactly  the  same  value  as  those  of 
everybody  else  —  except  your  brother." 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,  didn't  my  brother  tell 
me  that  you  rendered  him  a  great  service  just 
before  the  convention? " 

"  Did  he  tell  you  so?  That  was  unlike  a 
public  character,  wasn't  it?  To  remember  — 
and  mention  —  that  any  one  had  done  him  a 
great  service?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  inclined  to  be  cynical,  Mr. 
Buckingham." 

"  No,  no,  not  a  bit  of  it.  Only  I'm  one  of 
those  who  render  great  services  and  never  re 
ceive  them.  That  disposes  one  to  be  cynical, 
don't  you  think?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "  I 
can't  speak  from  experience." 

"  Of  course  not.  Of  course  not.  Tell  me 
your  impression  of  all  this,  Miss  Porter." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  377 

"My  impression?  Your  inquiry  is  a  little 
abrupt.  I  think  it  is  all  —  very  pretty  —  and 
very  bewildering." 

"  Just  so.     You  are  a  saint,  aren't  you?  " 
Miss  Porter  laughed  at  the  renewed  abrupt 
ness,  but  did  not  seem  to  dislike  it.      :<  What 
makes  you  think  that?  " 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  I'm  a  sinner?  " 
"  I  imagine  you  want  me  to  think  so." 
"  And  don't  you  want  me  to  think  you're  a 
saint  —  really  now  —  way  down  in  the  bottom 
of  your  heart?  I  can  understand  it,  oh,  yes,  I 
understand  it.  I  have  so  often  thought  I 
should  like  to  be  a  saint  myself.  And  I  may 
yet.  White,  white,  white  sanctity  has  such  a 
charm.  But  then,  so  has  the  red,  red  rose  of  sin, 
hasn't  it?  And  it  is  so  utterly  impossible  to 
blend  the  two.  And,  after  all,  perhaps  one 
sucks  the  sweet  of  life  best  by  continuing  to  be 
a  sinner  and  all  the  time  wishing  to  be  a  saint. 
Or  do  you  think  the  other  way  round  is  more 
satisfactory?  Aren't  you  simply  ravished  with 
the  quality  of  these  ethical  speculations?  I  feel 
just  in  the  mood  for  them  to-night.  I've  had 
a  great  shock." 

But  Viola,  who  mistrusted  her  cousin's  apolo 
gies,  had  brought  up  Miss  Tucker,  fatly  habited 
as  Queen  Victoria,  and  Flitters  slipped  away  to 
carry  on  his  ethical  communings  by  himself. 
For  a  few  moments  he  did  this,  sunk  in  a  sofa 
corner  behind  curtains  in  a  deep  window  recess, 
his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  as  if  the  sound  of 


378  MATTHEW  SORTER 

Constance's  fierce  outbreak  was  still  ringing 
through  his  brain,  drowning  all  the  pleasant 
whirr  of  gaiety  about  him.  Then,  springing 
up  and  making  a  hasty  gesture  as  of  brushing 
cobwebs  from  his  forehead,  he  wandered  over  to 
Astrologer  Hinckley,  who  happened  to  be 
standing  alone  and  looking  rather  at  a  loss. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Hinckley.  I'm  charmed 
to  see  you  here." 

The  two  had  met  once  or  twice  in  the  course 
of  the  summer's  politics  and  Hinckley  knew  the 
other  well  by  reputation.  '  The  pleasure  is  re 
ciprocal,"  answered  the  chairman  cordially. 

"  You  wouldn't  think  a  clown  like  myself 
would  have  been  just  the  one  to  disconcert  all 
your  well-laid  schemes  this  summer,  would 

you?;' 

Hinckley  stared. 

"  I  did  it.  I  first  smelled  out  Warren's 
treachery  and  told  Porter.  A  pretty  piece  of 
work,  wasn't  it?  And  doesn't  seem  like  a  fool's." 

"  It  seems  more  like  a  — "  the  astrologer 
began.  Then  he  stopped. 

"  Just  so.  It  seems  more  like  a  fool  to  tell 
of  it,  doesn't  it?  That's  just  the  way  I  am.  If 
I  could  do  the  things  for  myself  and  then  not 
tell  of  them,  I  should  be  the  governor  and 
Porter  the  fool;  for,  between  ourselves,  my  in 
telligence  is  worth  a  dozen  of  his.  But  what 
would  you  have?  And  then,  to  tell  the  truth, 
Hinckley,  I'd  rather  be  what  I  am,  and  throb 
and  quiver  every  moment  with  the  joy  of  life, 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  379 

flit  in  and  flit  out  of  golden  worlds  like  this  and 
suck  all  the  honeyed  sweetness  of  them,  than  be 
a  governor  or  even  chairman  of  a  state  Demo 
cratic  committee.  Don't  you  find  that  years 
spent  in  buying  votes  —  for  other  people,  in 
lobbying  dirty  bills  through  dirtier  legislatures, 
in  pulling  fools  up  and  kicking  other  fools 
down,  unfits  one  for  enjoying  one's  self?  " 

"  I  do,  God  knows  I  do."  At  that  moment, 
looking  at  the  gay,  careless  flight  of  pretty 
women  about  him,  not  one  of  whom  but  thought 
a  politician  beneath  contempt,  the  chairman  felt 
his  answer  to  be  the  sincerest  of  his  life.  And 
probably  there  was  not  a  person  there  who  could 
better  enter  into  and  appreciate  Flitters's  view 
of  things  than  he. 

"  I  divined  it,"  cried  the  delighted  clown. 
"  You  are  like  Calchas  in  La  Belle  Helene:  Si 
j'avais  suivi  ma  vocation,  j'aurais  ete  homme  de 
plaisir.  We  are  born  companions,  Hinckley. 
Let  me  teach  you  to  enjoy  yourself." 

But  the  astrologer  sighed.  "  Too  late,"  he 
murmured,  "  too  late." 

In  the  window  recess  corresponding  to  the 
one  where  Flitters  had  taken  refuge  Wingate 
had  seated  Ruth  and  thither  he  brought  supper 
for  her  and  for  himself.  They  had  danced  the 
preceding  waltz  together,  and  Ruth,  exuberant 
with  her  new-found  joy,  had  treated  her  part 
ner  with  a  gentleness  that  deceived  him.  "  She 
cannot  care  for  that  oaf,  McCarthy,"  he  thought. 
"  At  least,  I  must  find  out  whether  she  cares 


380  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

or  not."  So,  as  they  ate  together,  he  was  very 
silent,  wondering  in  what  way  best  to  ask  his 
question. 

But  Ruth  felt  it  absolutely  necessary  that  the 
question  —  she  read  it  in  his  eyes,  in  the  very 
gesture  with  which  he  handed  her  a  plate  of 
salad  —  should  not  be  asked.  "  Mr.  Wingate," 
she  said,  "  you  will  keep  my  secret,  won't  you? 
I  feel  that  I  must  tell  it  you.  I  am  engaged  — 
to  —  Eugene.  I  am  so  happy." 

Oh,  certainly,  he  would  keep  her  secret,  and 
he  was  very  glad  she  was  happy  and  hoped  she 
would  be  so  always,  and,  in  saying  it,  he  tried 
to  keep  out  the  suggestion  that  he  hoped  she 
would  not.  He  did  not  succeed;  but  she  pitied 
and  forgave.  Only  it  is  doubtful  whether  either 
of  them  got  much  pleasure  from  the  remainder 
of  that  supper. 

When  the  company  returned  to  the  lower 
floors,  they  found  Porter  and  Burke  just  ar 
rived. 

"  He  ought  to  go  home  to  bed,"  said  Burke 
to  the  hostess,  "  speaking  every  night  and  at 
tending  to  correspondence  half  the  day.  He  is 
made  of  iron." 

But  Porter  laughed.  "  There  is  no  anxiety 
now,"  he  said.  "  Only  fun.  Wait  till  I  am  gov 
ernor."  And  indeed  it  was  impossible  not  to 
wonder  at  his  serenity  and  evident  health.  He 
ate  and  slept  as  he  had  always  done  and  seemed 
as  fresh  at  midnight  as  in  the  morning. 

When  the  dancers  fell  to  work  again,  Porter 


MATTHEW  SORTER  381 

and  Hinckley  began  chatting  together  and 
Hinckley  called  over  Wingate,  who  at  present 
had  but  one  desire,  to  find  some  decent  excuse 
for  getting  away. 

"  Nothing  more  definite  as  yet  from  Pow 
ers?"  Porter  asked. 

"  Nothing  as  yet." 

"  I  heard  on  very  good  authority  this  after 
noon,"  went  on  the  candidate,  "  that  he  had 
finally  made  up  his  mind  and  was  coming  out 
against  us." 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  Wingate  objected. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  do." 

4  Well,  I  sent  one  of  our  best  men  for  an 
interview  this  afternoon.  He  was  to  call  me  up 
here.  I  don't  know  why  he  hasn't." 

The  talk  was  going  on  with  increasing  eager 
ness;  but  Flitters  interrupted.  "  This  is  intol 
erable,"  he  said.  "  Every  politician  who  comes 
here  dances,  unless  he  prefers  to  sing  a  song. 
Hinckley,  will  you  sing  a  song?  No?  Then 
come  and  ask  your  hostess  to  dance.  Porter, 
there's  Flora  waiting  for  you.  Wingate,  Win- 
gate- 

The  others  obeyed,  but  Wingate  timidly  an 
nounced  his  intention  of  departing,  and  Flitters, 
after  looking  at  him  for  a  second,  guessed  why. 
"  All  right,  old  man,"  he  said.  "  And  won't 
you  telephone  to  the  office  to  call  me  up,  if 
there's  anything  from  Powers?" 

"  I  will" 

Then  Flitters  returned  to  his  flock  and  set 


382  WCATTHEW  SORTER 

them  all  whirling  more  wildly  than  ever.  Por 
ter's  announcement  about  Powers  had  somehow 
circulated  and  at  first  brought  a  slight  depres 
sion  with  it.  But  Flitters's  merriment  banished 
this  before  long.  He  danced  first  with  one  girl, 
then  with  another.  He  initiated  intricate  square 
dances  and  wandering  reels.  When  no  one 
could  stand  any  longer,  he  led  wild  choruses 
that  refreshed  drooping  spirits  and  reanimated 
sinking  limbs.  Those  who  knew  him  best  had 
never  before  seen  him  in  quite  such  a  mood  of 
irresistible,  infectious,  faunlike  gaiety. 

Suddenly,  however,  at  the  end  of  one  of  the 
wildest  reels,  he  checked  them  all.  "  Let's  go 
home  before  we  are  exhausted,"  he  said.  "  Pick 
the  rose  before  it  withers.  Break  the  flask  be 
fore  it  comes  to  the  last  drop.  If  only  we  could 
treat  life  in  the  same  way.  And  for  those  of  a 
more  earthly  disposition,  who  have  been  unable 
altogether,  even  in  this  atmosphere,  to  shake  off 
the  low  preoccupation  of  ephemeral  cares,  I  may 
perhaps  mention  that  I  have  just  received  a  tele 
phone  message  from  Wingate.  He  says  that 
the  Intelligencer  will  print  to-morrow  a  long 
interview  with  ex-Governor  Powers,  who  an 
nounces  that  although  he  remains  a  Republican 
on  national  issues,  he  believes  heartily  in  Por 
ter's  ideas  of  state  politics  and  in  the  man 
Porter  himself  and  will  turn  in  his  vote  on  the 
sixth  of  November  for  Porter  and  Burke.  Now 
then,  three  times  three  for  ex-Governor  Powers, 
and  good  night." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  383 

They  cheered  and  went. 

"  I  hope  you  aren't  irrecoverably  shocked  and 
disgusted  at  such  a  frivolous  world,"  said  Viola 
to  Miss  Porter,  as  she  accompanied  her  to  her 
room. 

"  It  isn't  just  the  world  I  am  used  to,"  an 
swered  the  quiet  lady.  "  But  it  may  do  me  all 
the  more  good.  Surely  your  cousin  is  a  very 
remarkable  person." 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

So  the  campaign  went  merrily  on.  Hinck- 
ley's  genuine  acceptance  of  Porter's  leadership 
showed  itself  in  a  distinct  quickening  of  activity 
on  the  Democratic  side.  Newspaper  editorials, 
newspaper  appeals,  newspaper  advertisements, 
advertisements  of  every  kind,  answered  each 
other  in  hot  volleys,  full  of  sound  and  fury,  oc 
casionally  signifying  something.  Speakers  on 
both  sides  spoke  everywhere:  for  the  Democrats 
Porter  himself  untiringly,  Burke,  Smith,  many 
others  who  had  become  interested  now  they 
found  that  something  was  really  going  on;  for 
the  Republicans  Heath,  Burgess  (candidate  for 
lieutenant-governor),  the  two  senators,  and  con 
gressmen  innumerable. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  masquerade  Hinckley 
had  a  little  talk  with  Porter  on  the  subject  of 
money. 

"  The  Republicans  are  using  their  dollars 
freely,"  remarked  the  chairman. 

"  Buying  votes  you  mean?  " 

"  It's  early  to  buy  many  votes  right  out. 
But  they  will  buy  them." 

'  You  can't  do  that  very  widely  in  Massachu 
setts,"  Porter  objected. 

384 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  385 

"  Bless  you,  yes  you  can,"  answered  the  other, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  knew. 

"  Hinckley,"   continued  the   leader   seriously, 
"  that  is  something  I   won't  have.      Spend  all 
the  money  you  like,  and  can  get,  legitimately  - 
on    advertising,    printing,    rallying,    what    you 
please.     But  I  won't  have  a  vote  bought  for 


me." 


The  chairman  bowed  his  head  with  unwonted 
submission.  "  Well,"  he  sighed,  "  I  believe  we 
can  beat  them  without.  They  wouldn't  try  it, 
if  they  weren't  absolutely  desperate." 

It  was  long  since  a  purely  state  campaign 
had  excited  so  much  interest.  Men  lost  their 
tempers  at  the  clubs  discussing  whether  Porter's 
ideas  were  mere  moonshine,  a  painted  hobby 
horse  trimmed  conveniently  for  riding  into  of 
fice,  good  afterwards  for  nothing  but  the  rub 
bish  heap,  or  whether  he  would  really  attempt 
to  carry  them  out  in  the  face  of  indifferent  sup 
porters  and  defiant  opponents.  Old-fashioned 
Republicans  abused  him  as  a  disturber  of  the 
peace,  incapable  of  appreciating  the  good  things 
that  are,  a  radical,  hot  with  his  own  insane  rhet 
oric,  a  turbulent  demagogue,  dangerous  as 
nitro-gylcerine,  to  be  heroically  voted  down  by 
all  citizens  who  loved  their  country.  Progress 
ive  Democrats  laughed,  said  that  "  the  good 
things  that  are  "  went  too  exclusively  into  Re 
publican  mouths  and  pockets,  that  Porter  was 
not  only  honest  and  patriotic  in  intention,  but 
a  man  with  a  grip  who  would  take  hold  in  the 


386  MATTHEW  'PORTER 

right  way  at  the  right  time  and  give  the  state 
the  thorough  cleaning  up  it  needed  after  so 
many  years  of  Republican  corrupt  domination. 
Citizens  who  loved  their  country  would  surely 
vote  for  him,  urged  the  Democratic  orators. 
Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  the  citizen  who  loved 
his  country  above  party,  if  such  a  creature  ex 
isted,  had  a  hard  time  of  it. 

The  enthusiasm  even  spread  beyond  Massa 
chusetts.  The  New  York  papers  commented  on 
Porter  and  the  situation,  some  with  owl-like 
gravity  and  others  with  ghoul-like  merriment. 
One  or  two  responsive  echoes  came  from  Phil 
adelphia,  Chicago,  and  the  far  west.  A  Mon 
tana  contemporary  seemed  to  have  caught  some 
glimmerings  of  Porter's  idea,  and  asserted  that 
the  result  of  the  struggle  in  Massachusetts 
might  affect  the  destiny  of  children  yet  unborn, 
a  statement  which  afforded  infinite  gaiety  to 
several  humorous  Republican  journals. 

In  nearly  every  discussion  of  the  subject  more 
or  less  reference  was  made  to  the  "  Democrat " 
letters  and  indeed  it  was  clear  to  every  one  that 
these  documents  were  affecting  the  course  of  the 
campaign  more  than  any  other  one  thing,  unless 
it  was  the  personality  of  Porter  himself.  Every 
week  they  seemed  to  grow  in  vigour,  terseness, 
wit,  point,  direct  and  sinewy  grasp  of  the  prob 
lems  before  the  people.  One  of  the  best  ideas 
of  the  converted  Hinckley  was  the  publication 
of  the  letters  collected  in  a  most  effective 


MATTHEW  SORTER  387 

pamphlet  which  was  distributed  all  over  the 
state. 

Republican  comments  and  answers  to  "  Dem 
ocrat  "  were  of  course  forthcoming  from  every 
where,  many  of  them  witty,  satirical,  and  in 
genious;  but  none  seemed  to  have  any  great 
vogue  or  take  the  public  ear.  The  most  effect 
ive  were  those  which  hinted  at  the  insincerity  of 
Porter's  democracy  and  charged  him  with  mak 
ing  a  great  parade  of  democratic  ideas  to  the 
people,  but  all  the  time  identifying  himself 
more  and  more  with  an  idle,  luxurious  class 
from  which  he  drew  all  his  intellectual  and 
financial  support.  These  charges  were  general, 
however,  vague  and  impersonal;  and  "Demo 
crat  "  had  not  found  it  necessary  to  take  more 
than  a  passing  notice  of  them.  Even  for  two 
or  three  days  after  the  masquerade  and  Con 
stance's  threat  of  revelation,  nothing  more  def 
inite  appeared;  and  Viola  began  to  hope  that 
the  threat  would  not  be  carried  out  and  she 
should  be  saved  a  complication  which  had  wide 
possibilities  of  unpleasantness. 

She  was  mistaken.  Wood  had  held  the  joker 
—  till  he  wanted  to  use  it.  On  the  morning  of 
Wednesday,  November  first,  not  one  but  half 
a  dozen  leading  Republican  papers  all  over  the 
state  came  out  with  great  headlines.  AUTHOR 
OF  DEMOCRAT  LETTERS  REVEALED  AT  LAST. 
COLOSSAL  FAKE.  This  was  the  prelude  to  a 
lively  story  to  the  effect  that  the  author  of  the 


388  MATTHEW  SORTER 

letters  was  now  known  to  be  George  Bucking 
ham,  librettist  of  a  popular  comic  opera,  a  clever 
man  about  town,  rich,  idle,  member  of  a  dozen 
clubs,  absolutely  without  any  political  convic 
tions  or  enthusiasms  whatsoever,  whose  sole 
serious  occupation  hitherto  had  been  the  writing 
of  witty  advertisements  for  Hanks's  suspen 
ders  and  other  such  useful  articles.  It  had  come 
to  this,  then,  said  the  Republican  papers,  that 
a  political  nostrum  must  be  advertised  like  any 
other  nostrum.  The  inventor  of  a  panacea  war 
ranted  to  cure  all  the  ills  of  government  must 
resort  to  the  man  who  boomed  popular  specifics 
for  a  disordered  liver;  and  the  same  ingenious 
wit  which  could  turn  happy  verses  on  a  pill  for 
indigestion  could  indite  flaring  philippics  on  a 
salve  for  a  corrupt  legislature. 

The  Solons  of  Republicanism  amplified  still 
further  on  their  text.  All  this  came  obviously 
from  the  company  the  Democratic  candidate 
had  been  lately  keeping.  Nobody  doubted  that 
by  inheritance  and  temper  he  was  a  good,  sober, 
serious  young  man,  a  little  conceited,  over-con 
fident  in  his  judgment,  disposed  to  think  that 
he  could  remodel  an  old  world  with  a  few 
touches  of  his  deft  fingers.  Still,  all  this  one 
could  respect  him  for,  even  if  one  smiled  and  did 
not  agree  with  him.  But  surely  his  warmest 
admirers  could  not  approve  of  the  change  that 
had  recently  come  over  his  habits  and  surround 
ings.  To  pry  too  deeply  into  the  social  relaxa 
tion  of  an  ordinary  personage  would,  of  course, 


MATTHEW  SORTER  389 

be  impertinent  and  indecorous.  But  the  candi 
date  for  governor  must  expect  every  detail  of 
his  life  to  be  subject  to  the  closest  scrutiny.  Was 
it  suitable,  then,  that  the  representative  of  the 
people  par  excellence,  the  man  who  stood  above 
all  things  for  democratic  ideals  and  simplicity 
of  life,  who  repudiated  the  excesses  of  wealth 
and  luxury  which  his  poor  followers  and  sup 
porters  could  not  share,  should  consort  only  with 
the  rich,  with  the  idle,  with  those  who  had  con 
fessedly  no  other  object  than  the  gratification 
of  their  own  whims  and  who  had  nothing  what 
soever  in  common  with  the  class  which  he  as 
sumed  to  represent?  Consistency  in  all  things 
was,  perhaps,  beyond  the  reach  of  politicians  as 
well  as  of  common  men.  But  there  was  a  cer 
tain  degree  of  inconsistency  which  was  hardly 
compatible  with  political  self-respect.  Nothing 
as  yet  had  so  definitely  shown  the  extent  to 
which  Mr.  Porter  had  allowed  himself  to  come 
under  unfortunate  influences  as  the  fact  that  his 
brilliant  support  in  the  "  Democrat "  letters  was 
now  proved  to  have  emanated  from  such  a 
source.  And  he  could  be  well  assured  that  a 
large  part  of  the  significance  of  the  overwhelm 
ing  defeat  which  certainly  awaited  him  on  the 
following  Tuesday  might  be  attributed  to  the 
very  undesirable  connections  in  which  he  had 
recently  become  entangled. 

Porter  laughed  at  this.  So  did  all  his  friends. 
But  it  hurt.  Such  things  always  hurt. 

"  What  will  you  answer?     Or  will  you  an- 


390  MATTHEW  SORTER 

swer? "  he  said  to  Viola  when  he  saw  her  for 
a  moment  Thursday  evening. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  answer,"  she  replied  calmly. 
"  And  I  think  you  will  be  satisfied." 

He  was. 

Saturday  morning  came  the  "  Democrat " 
letter  as  usual  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
readers  waited  for  it  with  overwhelming  curios 
ity.  "  At  the  acutest  crisis  of  a  campaign,"  it 
began,  "  when  nothing  should  be  considered  but 
political  issues  of  the  most  vital  importance  to 
the  community,  our  attention  is  cleverly  dis 
tracted  by  petty  insinuations  of  personal  insult. 
Hitherto  I  have  avoided  the  discussion  of  such 
things.  It  can  be  avoided  no  longer.  Let  us 
have  it  clear  and  brief  so  that  it  can  be  under 
stood  by  every  one." 

The  writer  then  took  up  the  question  of  au 
thorship.  Mr.  Buckingham  was  accused  of  it. 
And  he,  forsooth,  was  a  witty  man,  a  writer  of 
advertisements.  It  was  natural  perhaps  that  the 
average  Republican  should  be  afraid  of  a  witty 
man.  But  what  was  there  dishonest  or  degra 
ding  about  writing  advertisements?  With  ad 
vertisements,  as  with  sermons,  the  thing  was  to 
write  them  well.  As  to  advertising  in  itself,  of 
course  Mr.  Porter  was  advertising,  and  Mr. 
Heath  was  advertising,  and  every  political  per 
sonage  and  political  party  since  the  beginning 
of  the  world  had  always  been  advertising,  offer 
ing  their  wares  to  the  public  with  all  possible 
ingenuity  of  persuasive  commendation.  In  poli- 


MATTHEW  PORTER  391 

tics,  as  in  other  things,  the  old  adage  held  fully. 
It  pays  to  advertise,  when  you  have  a  good 
thing.  The  Republicans  would  find  it  had  paid 
Porter,  when  the  day  of  reckoning  came. 

But  could  there  be  anything  more  absurd  than 
this  tempest  about  the  authorship  of  the  letters? 
As  if  they  were  the  plays  of  Shakespeare.  Did 
they  hit  straight  and  hard?  Did  the  blows  tell? 
Did  every  sentence  knock  over  a  Republican 
vote,  every  argument  sound  a  trumpet  call  to 
those  who  were  blinded  by  old  traditions  and 
mouldy  conventions?  The  author's  modesty 
could  hardly  hope  that  this  was  the  case;  but 
if  it  were,  they  would  have  served  their  purpose. 
What  matter  whether  they  were  written  by 
George  Buckingham  or  Theodore  Roosevelt? 

Further,  now  that  the  question  of  Mr.  Por 
ter's  social  relations  had  been  so  impudently 
opened  by  the  Republican  papers,  "  Democrat " 
would  say  a  few  words  on  that  more  general 
subject,  to  dispose  of  it  once  for  all.  Mr.  Por 
ter  had  given  no  authority  or  commission  to 
any  one  to  speak  for  him;  but  it  so  happened 
that  "  Democrat "  was  in  a  situation  to  know 
some  facts  which  would  shed  an  interesting  light 
on  the  matter.  Nearly  a  year  ago,  when  Porter 
first  began  to  be  thought  of  as  a  candidate,  some 
of  the  Republican  leaders  were  discussing  the 
situation.  How  should  they  meet  this  new  dan 
ger?  What  was  the  best  way  of  putting  this 
eager,  young,  uncompromising  spirit  out  of  the 
political  field?  Various  suggestions  were 


392  MATTHEW  SORTER 

brought  forward.  At  length  one  of  the  more 
ingenious  plotters  proposed  a  woman.  There 
was  no  quicker,  no  surer,  no  deadlier  way  of 
destroying  a  man's  political  future  than  by  the 
influence  of  a  woman.  But  what  woman?  In 
this  case  nothing  common  or  mean  would  do, 
no  mere  adventuress,  lobbyist,  hired  at  so  much 
a  day  to  wheedle  and  cajole  some  unfortunate 
of  her  own  quality.  Even  Republican  politi 
cians  could  appreciate  that  Porter  was  not  of 
the  stuff  to  be  approached  in  such  a  fashion. 
What  then?  The  proposer  of  the  scheme  was 
not  balked  by  these  obvious  objections.  Some 
thing  different  was  required.  Something  differ 
ent  was  what  he  had  in  mind.  Porter  was  a 
Democrat,  a  radical,  his  political  existence  was 
dependent  upon  Democrats  and  radicals,  men  to 
whom  luxury  was  —  in  theory  —  anathema,  and 
elegance  and  refinement  the  subtlest  devices  of 
the  devil  of  idleness.  What  was  needed,  then, 
was  a  woman  of  aristocratic  breeding,  unlimited 
wealth,  wide  culture,  and  luxurious  habits,  who 
should  ensnare  the  young  Democrat,  fascinate 
him  with  the  grace  and  witchery  of  her  idle 
world,  teach  him  insensibly  her  own  infinite 
contempt  for  the  reek  of  Democracy  and  the 
claptrap  of  radicalism,  so  that  he  should  find 
himself  at  last  in  a  thoroughly  false  position. 
Then,  when  he  was  saturated  with  this  subtle 
virus,  completely  indentified  with  these  new,  un 
natural,  absolutely  inconsistent  surroundings, 
just  at  the  right  moment,  in  the  perfect  polit- 


WCATTHEW  SORTER  393 

ical  crisis,  the  Republican  papers  would  discover 
the  inconsistency  and  benevolently  point  it  out 
to  their  deluded  enemies,  crying  treachery, 
treachery,  treachery,  till  the  bewildered  people 
really  thought  they  had  been  betrayed. 

It  was  a  clever  scheme,  "  Democrat "  said, 
and  it  might  very  well  have  succeeded.  The 
ingenious  Republican  politician  knew  just  where 
to  find  the  woman  for  his  purpose  and  found 
her.  She  was  rich,  idle,  luxurious,  hated  the 
mob  and  disbelieved  in  democratic  ideals.  And 
she  agreed,  partly  from  idle  curiosity,  partly 
from  a  vague  idea  of  helping  her  own  class 
against  the  rabble  she  detested,  to  undertake  the 
Iscariot-like  task  that  was  proposed  to  her. 
What  happened?  Did  Mr.  Porter  lose  his  fixity 
of  purpose,  or  change  the  temper  of  his  dispo 
sition?  Not  one  jot.  "  Democrat  "  would  fear 
lessly  declare  that  the  leader  was  more  sincerely 
democratic,  more  uncompromising  in  his  efforts, 
more  fully  convinced  of  the  great  future  of  pop 
ular  government,  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his 
life  before.  Instead  of  being  himself  influenced 
by  the  atmosphere  of  luxury  and  idleness  with 
which  he  had  come  in  contact,  he  had  influenced 
others.  Even  the  idlest,  even  the  most  luxuri 
ous,  had  felt  the  enthusiasm  of  his  ideals  and  had 
come  to  take  an  absorbed  interest  in  his  success. 
It  was  his  distinguishing  quality  that  he  could 
communicate  his  own  zeal.  And  the  persons 
who  had  been  selected  as  the  instruments  of  his 
downfall  had  found  their  acquaintance  with  him 


394  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

the  beginning  of  a  new  spiritual  life,  had  dis 
covered  a  new  nobility  in  politics,  a  new  signif 
icance  in  history.  They  had  been  bidden  to 
make  him  disbelieve.  He  had  made  them  be 
lieve.  Among  all  his  old  friends  and  political 
associates  he  had  to-day  no  more  ardent  and 
thoroughgoing  supporters  and  sympathizers 
than  those  whom  the  cynical  chiefs  of  the  Re 
publican  party  had  chosen  to  be  his  ruin.  Thus 
the  overwhelming  victory  which  was  certain  to 
be  his  on  the  following  Tuesday  would  be,  in 
some  part  at  least,  owing  to  the  very  efforts 
which  had  been  made  for  his  defeat.  Could 
there  be  a  more  impressive  instance  of  the  way 
in  which  evil  designs  recoil  upon  the  heads  of 
the  designers? 

This  personal  portion  of  the  letter  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  few  other  telling  strokes  of  a  more 
general  character;  but  it  is  safe  to  say  that  these 
attracted  comparatively  little  attention.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Republican  attack  on  Porter's 
personal  character  and  "  Democrat's  "  vigorous 
and  daring  vindication  were  read  and  discussed 
by  nearly  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the 
whole  state. 

As  for  Porter,  when  the  first  minute  came 
that  he  could  snatch  during  the  busy  morning, 
he  took  a  cab  and  ran  up  to  Viola's.  Something 
of  his  feeling  he  must  pour  out  to  her.  Grati 
tude  for  the  splendid  political  service  was  much; 
but  passionate  love,  adoration  almost,  for  the 
woman's  personal  sacrifice  was  more. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  395 

She  received  him  alone,  had  perhaps  —  shall 
I  say,  probably?  —  expected  him.  He  walked 
up  to  her,  took  both  her  hands,  and  looked  deep, 
deep  into  the  dark  eyes,  which  seemed  almost 
ready  to  fill  with  tears. 

"How  could  you  do  it?"  he  said.  "How 
could  you  do  it?  Offer  yourself,  your  inmost, 
palpitating  heart,  to  be  pawed  and  trodden  on 
by  those  hideous  brutes?  How  could  you  do 
it?" 

"  I  would  do  more  than  that  for  the  cause 
I  am  serving,"  she  answered,  self-possessed,  yet 
he  was  aware  of  the  effort  in  her  self-possession. 

He  still  held  her  hands,  still  spoke  in  the  same 
tone.  "  All  for  the  cause?  Nothing  for  me?  " 

But  she  drew  her  hands  away  and  laid  one 
finger  on  her  lips,  as  resolute  as  ever.  "  Hush! 
The  election!  How  can  we  think  or  talk  of 
anything  now  but  the  election?  We  should  be 
profaning  the  high  sanctity  of  all  our  ideals,  if 
we  did." 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

"  IT  seems  the  fellow  keeps  repeating  his  chal 
lenge  to  you  to  debate  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Dud 
ley,"  said  Wood  to  his  nephew.  "  It's  all  non 
sense,  but  I  don't  know  but  you'll  have  to  meet 
him." 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,  meet  him.    Why  not? " 

"Afraid?" 

"  Wouldn't  you  be?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  need.  The  one  thing 
you  can  do  is  talk,  could  from  your  cradle.  You 
can  outtalk  him,  I  think.  Then,  if  he  chal 
lenges,  you  can  have  the  last  word." 

"  Thank  you.  I'd  rather  have  the  first.  I 
don't  want  to  argue  with  Porter.  The  trick  in 
these  matters  is  to  get  your  audience  into  the 
right  mood  to  start  with.  Then  let  him  hammer 
away  at  'em  as  much  as  he  likes.  Afterwards 
I'll  pull  him  up  with  a  little  ridicule." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way.  It's  your  affair, 
not  mine.  Only  I  think  it  will  have  to  be  done." 

So  the  great  debate  was  arranged  for  Satur 
day,  November  fourth,  the  day  on  which  Viola's 
defence  of  her  hero  appeared.  Admission  to 
the  hall  was  to  be  only  by  ticket.  Some  of  Por 
ter's  friends  had  feared  that  this  plan  would 
discontent  his  humbler  followers  and  had  taken 


MATTHEW  SORTER  397 

pains  to  see  that  tickets  were  distributed  im 
partially  to  persons  of  all  classes.  As  the  time 
approached,  however,  the  demand  became  so 
great  that  several  dollars  were  readily  paid  to 
any  holder  who  was  willing  to  sell  and  the 
chances  were  that  the  audience  would  be  as 
select  as  that  of  a  symphony  concert.  Hinck- 
ley  was  much  disturbed  until  he  hit  upon  the 
happy  idea  of  announcing  that  on  Monday  eve 
ning  in  the  same  place  Porter  would  give  an 
account  of  the  debate  and  sound  a  final  note  of 
exhortation  to  every  Democrat  who  could  make 
his  way  in. 

"That  damned  Hinckley,"  said  Wood  to 
Heath,  as  he  read  the  signature  to  this  notice. 
"  Porter's  hypnotized  him  for  good." 

"  It's  Viola,  they  say,"  returned  the  other. 
"  All  part  of  that  beautiful  scheme  of  yours." 

To  this  Wood  made  no  answer.  "  Well,  it'll 
have  to  be  Tremont  Temple  for  us,  that's  all. 
And  you've  got  to  get  the  best  of  him  Satur 
day." 

Hinckley,  too,  was  thinking  about  Saturday 
as  well  as  Monday.  "  I  hope  too  many  of  those 
tickets  aren't  going  into  Republican  hands,"  he 
said  to  Porter.  "  We  don't  want  them  to  have 
all  the  noise." 

"  No  fear,"  was  the  smiling  answer.  "  You 
know  a  handful  of  Rooney's  friends  will  make 
more  racket  than  all  the  Republicans  in  the 
state.  It  isn't  that  I  count  on  though.  George 
Buckingham  has  taken  the  thing  in  charge  and 


398  MATTHEW  SORTER 

will  have  a  solid  phalanx  of  his  own  that  will 
do  —  whatever  may  be  necessary.  Besides,  from 
what  I  hear,  I  think  as  many  Republican  tickets 
have  been  sold  as  Democratic." 

Even  Faneuil  Hall  has  rarely  seen  a  more  im 
pressive  audience  than  gathered  there  on  that 
Saturday  evening.  The  platform  was  crowded 
with  well-known  dignitaries,  an  ex-President  of 
the  United  States,  four  United  States  senators, 
congressmen,  judges,  college  presidents,  men 
prominent  in  every  business  and  profession. 
The  body  of  the  hall  held,  perhaps,  more  women 
than  had  ever  been  seen  at  a  political  gathering; 
for  the  personal  relations  of  the  two  candidates 
and  the  gossip  engendered  by  the  "  Democrat " 
correspondence  had  aroused  a  passionate  interest 
in  many  to  whom  abstract  politics  meant  no 
more  than  abstract  astronomy. 

Ex- Senator  Woodward  presided,  a  Republi 
can  of  the  war  time,  but  a  man  whose  well- 
known  dignity  and  breadth  of  character  assured 
absolute  impartiality. 

At  eight  precisely  the  two  candidates  came 
upon  the  platform  from  opposite  doors.  When 
they  met  in  the  middle  and  shook  hands  a  roar 
of  applause  went  up  that  might  have  fitly  wel 
comed  a  second  declaration  of  independence. 
The  audience  saw  not  only  two  aspirants  to  the 
highest  office  in  the  commonwealth,  but  two  men 
who  had  been  struggling  for  years  in  the  keen 
est  personal  rivalry  and  now  came  together  at 
the  crisis  of  their  lives  to  pit  all  their  gifts 


MATTHEW  SORTER  399 

against  each  other  in  an  open  contest  before  the 
most  brilliant  array  of  judges  that  the  country 
could  afford.  For  a  moment  the  crowd  gave 
way  to  a  sort  of  delirium  and  Senator  Wood 
ward  made  no  attempt  to  call  them  to  order. 

When  the  candidates  were  quietly  seated,  a 
lull  came,  however,  and  then  the  chairman  ex 
plained  the  conditions  of  the  debate.  Mr.  Heath 
was  to  speak  first,  for  a  half -hour.  Mr.  Porter 
was  to  follow,  also  for  a  half-hour.  Mr.  Heath 
was  to  have  fifteen  minutes  to  reply  and  Mr. 
Porter  the  same  length  of  time  to  close.  The 
audience  was  asked  to  remember  that  the  im 
portant  feature  of  the  evening  was  the  speaking, 
and  that  while  a  proper  amount  of  enthusiasm 
—  here  the  chairman  smiled  —  was  quite  allow 
able,  any  undue  protraction  of  disturbance 
would  render  it  necessary  to  stop  the  debate  at 
once.  Both  speakers  had  left  such  closure  to 
the  chairman's  discretion  and  he  wished  the  as 
sembly  to  take  warning  beforehand. 

The  assembly  laughed,  cheered  the  chairman, 
shouted  in  frenzy  as  Heath  rose  to  begin  his 
speech,  then  settled  down  to  rapt  attention. 

And  Heath  spoke  wonderfully  well.  There 
was  no  doubt  about  that.  No  one  had  ever 
heard  him  speak  so  well  before.  His  was  just 
the  temper  to  respond  to  the  stimulus  of  a  great 
occasion.  He  moved  about  the  platform  enough 
to  seem  perfectly  at  ease.  All  his  gestures  and 
attitudes  were  graceful.  His  manner  never  lost 
the  indefinable  aristocratic  something,  which  was 


400  MATTHEW  SORTER 

not  haughty,  was  not  patronizing,  yet  seemed 
to  give  him  an  inborn  right  to  be  a  leader  and 
to  make  men  move  at  his  behest. 

From  the  beginning  he  took  bold  and  strong 
ground  on  the  claims  of  the  Republican  party. 
It  was  not  perfect.  What  human  institution 
was  or  could  be?  But  what  a  past  it  had  behind 
it!  And  he  rehearsed  the  old  theme  of  glory 
with  a  cleverness  of  rhetoric  that  seemed  almost 
new.  The  past  was  nothing,  however.  No 
party  could  take  its  stand  for  ever  upon  that. 
The  real  Republican  reliance  was  on  present 
and  future.  Briefly  but  effectively  he  outlined 
the  chief  Republican  principles.  Then  he 
showed  that  it  was  not  only  the  principles  that 
counted.  It  was  the  steadfastness  which  sup 
ported  them.  The  Republican  was  the  party  of 
stability.  Open  to  wise  change,  always  looking 
for  a  chance  to  improve  the  condition  of  things, 
it  yet  deprecated  sudden  and  violent  shifts 
which  had  no  meaning  and  no  permanent  value. 
Looking  back  at  its  history,  who  could  fail  to 
recognize  a  uniform  course  of  moderate,  intelli 
gent,  uninterrupted  progress?  And  what  was 
offered  in  its  stead?  No  one  could  deny  that 
the  Democracy  contained  many  brilliant  minds 
who  would  be  an  honour  to  any  party.  The 
present  occasion  alone  furnished  abundant  evi 
dence  of  that.  But  they  were  too  apt  to  give 
their  energies  to  mere  attack  and  destruction. 
As,  for  instance,  his  honourable  friend  there  who 
charged  the  legislature  of  Massachusetts  with  all 


MATTHEW  PORTER  401 

the  evil  and  corruption  under  the  sun.  And 
what  support  had  these  brilliant  exceptions, 
what  background,  what  guarantee  of  perma 
nence?  As  many  leaders,  so  many  parties. 
Now  one  new  specific,  then  another.  And  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye  this  last  had  vanished 
and  still  another  had  arisen  in  its  place.  Was 
it  for  a  moment  to  be  supposed  that  the  sober 
good  sense  of  the  majority  of  citizens  would  en 
trust  the  government  to  a  faction  so  mobile,  so 
uncertain,  so  incapable  of  persistence  in  any 
course,  good,  bad  or  indifferent?  For  his  part, 
he  did  not  believe  it.  The  future  of  Massachu 
setts,  like  the  future  of  the  nation,  would  be  en 
trusted  to  the  Republicans,  and  in  so  far  as  he 
was  a  humble  representative  of  that  party,  he 
could  promise  that  the  people  should  never  re 
gret  their  confidence. 

The  speaker  was  immensely  applauded  dur 
ing  his  speech,  with  only  an  occasional  Demo 
cratic  murmur;  and  when  he  had  finished,  the 
outburst  was  as  enthusiastic  as  could  be  desired. 

Yet  Viola  detected,  or  thought  she  detected, 
something  of  a  heartier  ring  in  the  shout  which 
greeted  Porter,  as  he  rose  quietly  and  took  his 
place  in  the  centre  of  the  platform.  Some 
might  prefer  his  manner  and  some  Heath's;  but 
there  could  be  no  question  as  to  the  difference 
between  the  two.  Porter  moved  little,  used  few 
gestures.  He  had  none  of  Heath's  nonchalant 
ease,  none  of  his  high-bred  grace  and  elegance. 
But  before  he  had  spoken  two  minutes,  one  of 


402  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

the  senators  —  Republican  at  that  —  whispered 
to  the  Republican  college  president  beside  him, 
"  This  is  a  man."  And  the  college  president 
answered,  "  He  is,  if  I  know  one." 

Porter  lost  no  time  in  rhetoric,  but  went  right 
at  the  facts.  He  was  glad  his  opponent  had  in 
sisted  on  fundamental  party  principles.  He 
himself  should  do  the  same.  The  first,  the  cardi 
nal  principle  of  the  Democratic  party  had  al 
ways  been  the  importance  of  the  state.  He  went 
on  to  show  in  some  detail  how  in  the  early  days, 
when  the  union  was  growing,  it  had  been  un 
necessary  to  insist  on  this  principle.  Then  the 
union  had  grown  and  grown,  until  by  means  of 
the  war  and  the  splendid  triumphs  and  services 
of  the  Republican  party,  it  had  come  altogether 
to  overshadow  the  original  elements  of  which  it 
was  composed.  So  that  now  the  state  govern 
ments  were  merely  tolerated,  neglected,  and 
every  ambitious  politician,  every  voter  even, 
looked  to  Washington  as  the  true  sphere  of  all 
political  activity.  The  protest  against  this  con 
dition  of  things  was  the  natural  duty  of  the 
Democratic  party  and  it  was  in  expression  of 
that  protest  that  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be 
put  forward  as  the  Democratic  candidate  for 
governor. 

He  then  made  it  clear  by  numerous  instances 
that  the  state  government  was  of  infinitely  more 
importance  to  the  average  citizen  than  the 
national.  If  this  was  so,  surely  it  was  above  all 
things  essential  that  the  state  government  should 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  403 

be  clean,  strong,  effective.  Was  it  so?  Was 
it  not  notorious  that  everywhere  the  state  gov 
ernments  were  feeble,  incapable,  and  corrupt? 
Yes,  his  adversary  had  charged  him  with  saying 
that  the  state  legislatures,  not  of  Massachusetts 
only,  were  corrupt.  Would  his  adversary,  or 
any  one  else  in  the  distinguished  assemblage  — 
here  he  looked  at  the  dignitaries  on  the  plat 
form —  deny  the  corruption?  But  in  urging 
this  he  meant  to  bring  no  charge  against  the 
individual  legislators.  Man  for  man  they  were 
as  honest  as  other  men.  He  had  known  scores 
of  them  personally  and  esteemed  them  and  be 
lieved  in  them.  The  men  were  not  at  fault.  It 
was  the  system.  Three  hundred  men  were 
brought  together,  each  to  fight  for  his  separate 
district.  What  could  they  do  but  trade  and 
bargain  and  sell  their  votes  and  their  voices  one 
to  another?  In  all  this  unorganized  mob,  who 
represented  the  state?  The  governor?  Where 
was  the  governor?  Did  he  ever  appear  in  the 
legislature?  Did  he  have  any  one  to  represent 
him  in  the  legislature?  But,  it  might  be  said, 
he  has  a  veto.  The  sole  representative  of  the 
state  as  a  whole,  and  only  a  veto!  What  if  the 
captain  of  a  ship  had  only  a  veto  on  the  deci 
sions  of  the  crew?  What  if  the  general  of  an 
army  had  only  a  veto  on  the  plans  of  a  council 
of  war?  Would  that  be  a  practical  way  to 
govern?  "  Fellow  citizens,"  the  speaker  con 
cluded,  "  there  is  but  one  way  to  purify  our 
state  governments.  Give  the  governor  power, 


404  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

at  the  same  time  holding  him  to  the  strictest 
responsibility.  On  that  plank  I  stand  or  fall. 
It  is  a  Democratic  plank  simply  because  the 
Democrats  have  had  the  wisdom  to  make  it  so. 
But  no  Republican  who  loves  his  country  or 
looks  forward  to  the  future  with  a  prophetic 
eye  will  or  ought  to  vote  against  it." 

There  had  been  far  less  applause  during  this 
speech  than  during  Heath's.  No  telling  points 
had  been  made,  no  rhetorical  pauses,  there  had 
been  no  clever  waving  of  the  stars  and  stripes 
back  and  forth  before  the  golden  calf  of  party 
loyalty.  But  the  speaker  himself  felt,  his  adver 
sary  felt,  every  one  present  felt,  that  every  one 
present  was  listening.  Something  in  the  quiet, 
earnest,  penetrating  voice,  something  in  the 
spirit  behind  the  voice,  held  every  other  spirit 
by  a  charm  too  deep  for  mere  outcry  and  riot 
ous  demonstration.  When  Porter  had  con 
cluded,  however,  the  prolonged  tumult  of  enthu 
siasm  had  a  note  which  other  ears  than  Viola's 
felt  to  be  different  from  anything  that  had  pre 
ceded  it. 

Yet  Heath  was  not  daunted.  His  courage, 
whether  on  the  polo  ground  or  on  the  battle 
field  of  politics,  was  of  the  kind  that  rises  with 
defeat.  Calm,  cool,  serene,  he  stepped  forward 
and  began  his  answer  with  the  same  well-bred 
ease  that  had  marked  his  first  attack,  and  in 
making  use  of  a  courteous,  deferential  irony, 
he  probably  resorted  to  the  most  effective 
weapon  that  could  have  been  found  for  his  pur- 


MATTHEW  SORTER  405 

pose.  He  could  afford  to  be  generous,  he  said, 
in  paying  tribute  to  the  noble,  the  truly  lofty 
oration  to  which  they  had  been  listening;  since 
he  need  hardly  tell  his  auditors  or  his  gifted 
opponent  that  it  had  little  bearing  on  practical 
politics.  Indeed,  such  abstract  theorizing  was 
so  far  remote  from  all  actual  conditions  that  it 
seemed  almost  superfluous  for  him  to  attempt 
to  discuss  any  of  the  every-day  points  that  ap 
peared  to  be  involved.  Yet  something  he  did 
feel  bound  to  say  as  to  the  iniquity  of  the  state 
legislature.  His  friend's  ideal  scheme  appeared 
to  require  that  the  legislature  should  be  corrupt. 
As  this  was  the  case,  it  seemed  unkind  to  show 
that  the  legislature  was  not  corrupt.  But  facts 
were  facts.  He  then  proceeded  to  narrate  some 
telling  incidents  which  pleased  the  audience  for 
the  moment,  and  subtly  altered  its  frame  of 
mind,  as  the  speaker  intended.  After  all,  how 
ever,  he  went  on,  of  what  use  was  this  sober, 
practical  point  of  view?  His  opponent  was  an 
idealist.  He  had  been  telling  them,  not  what 
could  be  done,  but  what  should  be  done,  might 
be  done,  some  day,  somewhere,  in  a  better  world 
than  this.  How  often  had  such  candidates  ap 
peared  before,  with  immense  projects  for  re 
forming  all  evils  under  the  sun.  Where  were 
they?  What  had  become  of  them?  If  they  had 
had  the  good  fortune  to  be  elected,  they  had 
turned  out  to  be  governors  like  other  governors, 
accepting  the  conditions  of  their  office,  doing 
what  good  they  could  —  some  of  them  —  none 


406  MATTHEW  SORTER 

of  them  ever  thinking  again  of  the  wonderful 
programme  they  had  proclaimed  for  themselves 
beforehand.  For  his  part,  he  could  not  pretend 
to  build  castles  in  the  air  for  the  hard  future 
to  knock  over.  All  that  he  could  promise  was 
to  do  his  duty  as  his  predecessors  had  done,  and 
to  be  a  faithful  servant  to  the  constitution  of 
Massachusetts  according  to  the  good  old  tradi 
tions  of  the  Republican  party.  It  was  not  much 
in  sound,  perhaps,  but  it  was  at  least  a  promise 
that  could  be  and  would  be  carried  out. 

Republican  supporters  from  platform  and 
floor  received  these  honourable  sentiments  with 
due  approval,  yet  even  the  warmest  partisans 
seemed  to  applaud  with  a  trifle  of  impatience, 
as  if  they  were  less  interested  in  their  candi 
date's  confession  of  faith  than  in  the  possibilities 
of  Porter's  reply. 

That  reply  came  instantly,  straight  and  clear. 
His  adversary's  tactics,  Porter  said,  were  to  turn 
him  and  his  ideals  into  a  jest.  But  he  would 
not  be  turned  into  a  jest.  Talk  of  facts!  He 
himself  was  a  fact  and  a  stern  fact,  as  his  ad 
versary  would  find  out  when  the  time  came.  It 
was  the  curse  of  American  life,  in  politics,  per 
haps  in  other  matters,  to  take  everything  as  a 
joke.  Dishonesty  was  a  joke,  lying  was  a  joke, 
bribery  was  a  joke,  a  good  joke,  a  clever  trick 
by  which  the  brightest  man  won  his  way  and 
sailed  laughing  into  the  highest  and  sacredest 
offices  of  the  state.  His  friend  had  given  vari 
ous  romantic  instances  of  legislative  integrity. 


MATTHEW  SORTER  407 

Many  others  might  doubtless  be  found  to  match 
them.  But  alas,  how  easy  would  it  be  to  parallel 
every  one  of  these  with  a  deed  of  shame.  The 
speaker  then  referred  briefly  to  some  of  the  most 
notorious  scandals  of  recent  years  and  also  to 
a  few  lesser  matters  which  had  come  within  his 
own  personal  observation. 

In  view  of  such  things  as  these,  could  any  one, 
he  asked,  seriously  deny  that  the  whole  of  our 
political  life,  and  with  our  politics,  of  our  busi 
ness  world,  was  tainted  by  financial  corruption? 

"  This,  fellow  citizens,  is  where  we  land,  when 
we  take  our  government,  our  history,  our  na 
tional  honour,  as  a  joke.  There  is  a  fit  time  to 
laugh  and  a  time  when  laughter  is  hideously  out 
of  place.  Life  is  a  serious  thing.  The  lives  and 
happiness  of  three,  of  eighty  millions  of  people 
are  a  serious  thing.  The  future  of  free  govern 
ment  is  a  serious  thing,  not  to  be  toyed  with, 
or  made  light  of,  or  jested  away.  I  stand  here 
before  you  to-night  with  the  professed  and  seri 
ous  purpose  of  making  Massachusetts  an  exam 
ple  to  every  state  in  the  Union,  of  making  her 
the  leading  free  commonwealth  in  the  world; 
and  I  solemnly  pledge  myself,  in  defiance  of  all 
jesters  and  jesting,  to  give  my  best  endeavours, 
to  give  my  life  itself,  if  necessary,  to  the  accom 
plishment  of  that. end." 

Mere  printed  words  cannot  convey  the  ear 
nestness,  the  dignity,  the  almost  sacred  solem 
nity,  which  went  to  the  utterance  of  this  vow. 
Not  a  man  or  woman  in  the  audience  but  felt 


408  MATTHEW  SORTER 

it.  Not  a  man  or  woman  stirred  for  several 
seconds  after  the  speaker  ceased;  but  there  was 
a  hush  as  if  he  had  been  breathing  a  prayer. 
Then  a  mighty  shout  filled  the  wide  hall  and 
echoed  round  the  benignant  faces  of  the  ancient 
fathers.  "Porter!  Porter!  Hurrah  for  Por 
ter!"  The  Republicans  dutifully  set  up  an  op 
posing  cheer  for  their  candidate;  but  the  noise 
was  less  spontaneous  and  less  effective,  and  even 
outside  the  hall,  far  down  into  the  crowded 
street,  the  waiting  multitude  took  up  the  cry, 
"  Hurrah  for  Porter!  Porter!  Porter!  " 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

SUNDAY  Porter  allowed  himself  a  peaceful 
afternoon  and  evening  in  Foxbridge  alone  with 
his  sister.  They  talked  much  of  politics,  of 
course,  much  of  the  debate,  much  of  the  "  Demo 
crat  "  letter  and  of  the  Republican  comments 
on  it  in  the  morning  papers.  For  Miss  Porter 
had  been  reading  the  Sunday  papers,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 

"  They  were  rather  feeble,  I  thought,"  said 
Clara. 

"  But  then  you  are  prejudiced,"  was  her 
brother's  smiling  answer. 

"I  don't  deny  it.  But  they  took  so  little 
notice  of  the  exposure  of  Heath's  conduct.  All 
they  did  was  to  reinsist  on  Mr.  Buckingham's 
authorship  of  the  letters.  And  why  shouldn't 
he  write  the  letters?  But  the  other  charge  was 
a  different  matter.  Do  you  suppose,  Mat,  they 
really  —  use  the  influence  of  —  all  sorts  of 
women  —  in  politics?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  do,  dear  sister.  I  fancy  they 
would  be  glad  to  use  the  influence  of  even  such 
women  as  you.  I  am  sure  I  should." 

'  You  know  that  isn't  what  I  mean." 

"  I  know  what  you   mean.      They   certainly 

409 


410  MCATTHEW  SORTER 

didn't  use  any  such  influence  in  my  case,  what 
ever  they  might  have  liked  to  do." 

"  Those  letters  have  been  a  wonderful  help, 
Mat,  haven't  they?  "  began  Miss  Porter  again, 
after  a  brief  silence. 

"  I  don't  know  where  I  should  have  been  with 
out  them  and  their  author." 

"  Their  author?  I  can't  believe  it  is  Mr. 
Buckingham,  after  all,  though  I  suppose  he  is 
quite  clever  enough.  They  seem  more  than 
clever." 

"  So  is  he." 

"  Well,  perhaps.  At  any  rate,  I  don't  believe 
he  wrote  them.  And  you  say  that  to-morrow 
night,  at  the  Jefferson  Club  banquet,  the  author 
will  reveal  himself  and  speak?  I  should  really 
like  to  go." 

"You,  Clara?  Well,  what  is  to  prevent? 
You  know  Miss  Buckingham  urged  you  to 
visit  her  again.  Why  don't  you? " 

"  But  I  must  be  here  Tuesday,  with  you,  to 
get  the  first  word  —  every  word." 

"  Exactly.  But  you  can  come  back  Tuesday 
morning.  I'll  telephone  to  Miss  Buckingham 


now." 


When  he  returned,  the  conversation  before  the 
smouldering  fire  became  a  little  more  personal 
—  a  brief  word  here  and  there,  with  intimate 
silences.  Long  since,  Miss  Porter  had  partly 
guessed,  partly  heard  her  brother's  secret,  but 
she  did  not  like  to  urge  him  to  talk  freely. 


JttATTHEW  PORTER  411 

"  You  have  no  more  definite  hope  —  in  regard 
to  —  Miss  Buckingham?"  she  asked  at  length. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  None  —  definite.  I 
believe  she  cares  for  me.  Yet  I  don't  know.  It 
may  be  that  I  am  no  more  to  her  than  a  symbol, 
a  mere  personification  of  the  abstract  cause  that 
has  awakened  all  the  deepest  vitality  of  her 
nature.  I  don't  know.  And  even  if  she  cares 
for  me,  how  can  I  expect  her  to  give  up  her 
immense  independence,  the  large,  free  motion 
of  her  own  will  to  which  she  has  always  been 
accustomed,  and  come  to  meet  another  will,  even 
half-way.  It  means  a  great  deal  to  me,  Clara. 
Oh!  so  much.  Do  you  think  me  ungrateful  or 
neglectful  of  all  you  are  to  me?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  it  is  so  different.  It 
must  be  different.  She  shall  be  as  dear  to  me 
as  you  are." 

Silence  again,  except  for  the  clock,  the  fire, 
and  the  low  moan  of  the  November  wind. 

The  banquet  of  the  Jefferson  Club  was  a  very 
brilliant  affair.  A  hundred  and  twenty  guests 
assembled,  among  whom  were  some  distin 
guished  Democrats  from  other  states  and  a 
large  number  of  ladies,  including  Viola  and 
several  of  her  Boston  friends,  as  well  as  Miss 
Porter. 

The  dinner,  though  excellent,  was  rapidly  dis 
posed  of;  for  everybody  knew  what  was  to  come 
and,  moreover,  Porter,  who  was  present,  was 
obliged  to  leave  for  Faneuil  Hall  at  eight 


412  MATTHEW  SORTER 

o'clock  and  was  expected  to  say  a  few  words 
before  his  departure. 

Therefore  the  company  was  called  to  order 
at  a  little  after  half -past  seven,  the  candidate 
made  his  brief  speech  amid  huge  applause,  took 
his  leave,  and  was  succeeded  by  Burke,  who  also 
spoke  very  briefly,  explaining  that  he  knew  his 
audience  was  looking  for  a  much  more  brilliant 
entertainment  than  he  could  afford  them. 

Then  the  president  introduced  Mr.  George 
Buckingham. 

The  audience  looked  at  one  another.  It  was 
he,  then,  really  he.  The  Republicans  were  right. 
And  he  had  written  advertisements.  There  was 
no  denying  it.  Well,  what  if  he  had?  He  was 
a  clever  fellow.  And  his  letters  —  what  would 
you  or  I  have  given  to  be  able  to  write  them? 
Let  us  applaud  him,  with  all  our  hearts. 

They  did,  and  Flitters,  standing  trim  and 
simple,  with  a  carnation  in  the  buttonhole  of  his 
evening  coat,  blinked  his  pale  eyes  and  looked 
as  solemn  as  an  owl  and  as  humorously  out  of 
place. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  began,  when  the 
uproar  was  stilled.  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  the  '  Democrat '  letters.  I  suppose  a  few 
of  you  may  have  read  them,  although  you  look 
to  me  like  too  intelligent  a  company  to  waste 
much  time  on  reading  of  that  nature.  You've 
heard  of  them,  however.  And  I  hardly  need 
tell  you  what  remarkable  productions  they  are. 


MCATTHEW  SORTER  413 

Viewed  as  pieces  of  pure  literature  even,  I  con 
sider  that  they  yield  nothing  to  the  letters  of 
Junius,  which,  by  the  way,  have  always  seemed 
to  me  a  rather  inferior  sort  of  affair.  But  these 
letters  are  not  to  be  viewed  as  literature,  they 
are  to  be  viewed  solely  as  red  hot  shot  in  this 
campaign;  and  from  that  standpoint  I  think 
it  would  be  hard  to  find  their  equal.  There  is 
no  rhetoric  in  them,  no  literary  gorgeousness, 
just  straight  argument,  flying  like  an  ungloved 
fist,  blow  after  blow,  into  the  podgy  Republican 
stomach,  which  has  so  long  been  fattening  on 
the  good  things  of  the  people.  I  reel  with 
laughter,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  positively  reel, 
when  I  think  of  Messrs.  Wood  and  Heath  so 
simply  concocting  the  beautiful  scheme  which 
was  shown  up  in  Saturday's  '  Democrat '  and 
getting  nothing  out  of  it  but  a  hornet's  nest. 
Yes,  there  have  been  several  interesting  fea 
tures  in  this  campaign,  among  others  a  certain 
Porter  —  as  he  has  gone,  there  is  no  use  in  try 
ing  to  see  if  I  could  make  him  blush;  but  the 
most  interesting,  original,  and  effective  feature, 
in  my  opinion,  has  been  the  *  Democrat '  let 
ters."* 

Here  the  speaker  paused,  took  a  drink  of 
water,  and  enjoyed  the  confusion,  the  bewilder 
ment,  which  had  been  coming  to  a  climax  in  the 
faces  of  his  audience. 

"  And  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  re 
sumed,  "  I  take  pleasure  in  presenting  to  you 


414  MATTHEW  SORTER 

the  author  of  the  '  Democrat '  letters,  who  is 
sitting  at  my  right  hand  —  Miss  Viola  Buck 
ingham." 

It  took  this  statement  a  second  to  penetrate, 
several  seconds  to  get  credited.  Then,  as  Viola 
rose  from  her  seat,  and  stood  waiting,  a  little 
paler  than  usual,  a  universal  shout  broke  forth, 
which  made  the  chandeliers  rattle  and  the  pass 
ers-by  in  the  street  pause  in  wonder.  Again  and 
again  the  noise  died  away.  Again  and  again 
it  was  renewed,  as  people  realized  afresh  the 
astonishing  revelation  that  had  been  made  to 
them.  Not  one  person  in  that  room,  probably 
not  one  person  in  Massachusetts,  besides  Porter, 
Wingate,  and  Flitters,  had  thought  of  looking 
for  "  Democrat "  in  such  a  quarter  as  this. 

Meantime  Viola  was  standing,  smiling, 
though  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  But  at  length 
the  president  compelled  silence  so  that  she 
might  be  heard. 

"  My  friends,"  she  said,  "  this  is  a  very 
great  occasion  for  me.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
for  me  to  disclaim  the  absurd  eulogy  which  it 
has  pleased  my  neighbour  to  deliver  on  the  hy 
pothesis  that  he  was  the  author  of  the  documents 
in  question.  The  letters  have  done  their  part. 
So  have  all  of  you,  each  in  his  own  way,  and 
I  hope  that  to-morrow  most  of  you  will  do  it, 
as  '  Democrat '  cannot,  at  the  polls.  But  if  we 
win,  and  we  shall  win,  it  will  be  owing  neither 
to  your  efforts  nor  to  '  Democrat's.'  It  will  be 
owing  to  the  character  of  the  candidate  for 


MATTHEW  PORTER  415 

whom  we  are  fighting  and  to  the  cause  he  rep 
resents.  What  that  cause  is  I  need  not  tell  you 
in  detail.  It  is  enough  to  use  the  words  of 
Lincoln  and  say  that  Mr.  Porter  is  labouring 
with  all  his  heart  and  soul  that  '  Government  of 
the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  people, 
may  not  perish  from  the  earth.'  If  I  have  been 
able  to  render  even  the  least  service  towards 
that  end,  it  will  be  the  proudest  and  the  happiest 
action  of  my  life." 

The  applause  broke  out  again  more  wildly 
than  before.  The  whole  company  gathered 
about  Viola  to  congratulate  her  and  press  her 
hand.  Even  yet  they  did  not  realize  the  fact, 
could  not  take  it  in.  "  Did  you  write  them?  " 
'  Were  you  really  the  author  of  all  those  let 
ters?"  "How  could  you  write  them?" 
"And  keep  it  to  yourself  all  this  time,  too?" 

"  A  good  card  for  Porter,"  observed  Flitters 
to  Flora,  as  they  stood  quietly  outside  the 
throng.  "  I  believe  you  promised  to  become 
Mrs.  Buckingham  if  he  is  elected.  It  looks  now 
as  if  you  might  have  that  misfortune." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

TUESDAY  morning  Porter  went  to  Foxbridge 
to  vote  and  then  wait  quietly  at  home  for  the 
result. 

The  morning  papers  were,  of  course,  full  of 
the  "  Democrat  "  revelation.  "  It's  worth  five 
thousand  votes  to  us,  at  least,"  said  Burke  to 
Hinckley.  "  Ten,  I  put  it,"  said  Hinckley  to 
Burke.  "  These  sentimental  considerations  take 
the  women  and  the  women  will  get  after  the 


men." 


"  Democrat "  also  issued  a  last  appeal,  brief 
and  general,  but  even  more  vigorous  and  stir 
ring  than  usual.  If  it  had  been  dull  as  Lethe, 
however,  it  would  have  stirred  people  on  that 
morning,  after  the  incident  of  the  evening 
before. 

Yet  with  all  this,  the  wise  ones  shook  their 
heads.  The  great  excitement  of  the  campaign 
had  tended  to  sharpen  party  lines  and,  as  every 
one  knows,  the  Republicans  are  strong  in  Massa 
chusetts.  Porter  had  made  a  bustle  on  the  sur 
face,  admitted  the  wise  ones;  but  there  is  a 
large  conservative  element,  which  votes  but  does 
not  talk,  nor  care  for  the  talk  of  others.  Then 
there  was  the  money.  Money  was  said  to  have 

416 


MATTHEW  SORTER  417 

been  used  on  the  Republican  side  to  an  extent 
almost  unheard  of  in  this  old-fashioned  state. 
Wood  could  command  unlimited  sums  and  he 
was  desperate.  A  defeat  at  such  a  crisis  would 
shake  his  prestige  so  that  it  was  doubtful 
whether  he  could  ever  recover  it,  and  the  sena- 
torship,  which  had  been  the  ambition  of  his  life, 
seemed  slipping  away  from  him. 

Therefore  it  was  by  no  means  with  perfect 
confidence  that  Porter  sat  down  in  his  study  in 
the  evening  to  await  the  final  result.  He  had 
asked  to  be  alone,  had  asked  even  Clara  to  leave 
him.  Flitters,  Smith,  Burke  were  all  outside, 
taking  turns  at  the  telephone,  rushing  to  the 
study  door  to  give  the  figures  from  one  place 
or  another,  announcing  them  from  the  piazza 
to  the  throng  which  had  gathered  about  the 
house,  cheered  madly  at  every  Democratic  gain, 
and  called  for  Porter  until  several  times  he  was 
obliged  to  go  to  a  window  and  speak  to  them, 
when  the  cheering  was  madder  than  ever.  But 
in  the  study  it  was  quiet.  The  fire  burned 
brightly  on  the  hearth.  The  cat  was  asleep  on 
the  window-seat,  indifferent  to  elections  and 
human  vanity. 

Porter  read  a  little,  wrote  a  little,  in  spite  of 
the  incessant  interruptions.  But  his  mind  was 
elsewhere,  not  unnaturally.  This  was  the  crisis 
of  his  life,  the  day  towards  which  the  hopes  of 
years  had  tended.  If  he  were  beaten,  of  course 
he  should  not  give  up.  But  what  courage  it 


418  MATTHEW  SORTER 

would  take  to  begin  the  whole  edifice  again  from 
the  foundation!  Should  he  be  beaten? 

"Brockton  for  Porter!"  "Fall  River  for 
Porter!"  "Worcester  probably  for  Heath." 
Well,  that  was  to  be  expected.  "  Lowell  for 
Porter!"  "  Porter  leads.  Not  much  doubt!" 
telephones  Hinckley.  A  great  cheering  this 
time  and  another  speech. 

And  Viola.  Come  what,  come  may,  he  would 
see  Viola  to-morrow.  She  must  answer  him 
then.  Could  it  be  that  failure  there  would  be 
added  to  failure  elsewhere?  Well,  if  it  were 
so,  he  would  face  it  like  a  man. 

Enter  Flitters.  "  A  note  by  special  messen 
ger,  marked  '  personal.'  May  be  a  bill,  may  be 
a  love-letter.  Will  wait  till  to-morrow  in  either 
case,  I  should  think."  Exit  Flitters, 

Porter  took  the  letter  with  indifference,  in 
stantly  recognized  Viola's  writing,  and  tore  it 
open.  "  Dear  Friend,"  it  ran.  "  I  could  not 
let  this  hour  pass  without  your  hearing  from  me. 
If  we  win,  as  we  must  and  shall,  I  want  every 
drop  of  happiness  to  be  crowded  into  your  cup. 
If  by  some  extraordinary  perversity  of  chance, 
we  should  lose,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am 
nearer  to  you  than  any  other  human  being  to 
give  you  courage  for  a  new  battle  and  a  final 
triumph.  When  you  came  to  me  first,  I  fell  in 
love  with  the  cause.  Now  I  love  the  man  with 
my  whole  heart  and  soul.  The  man  is  worthy 
of  the  cause.  If  only  I  were  worthy  of  either! 
Yours,  when  you  choose  to  come  for  me.  V.  B." 


MATTHEW  SORTER  419 

Porter  sat  rapt,  reading  this  letter  over  and 
over  and  over,  hardly  able  to  take  in  what  it 
meant  to  him.  From  time  to  time  an  announce 
ment  was  made  and  the  crowd  cheered,  but  he 
did  not  hear  it. 

Then,  all  at  once,  after  a  moment's  lull,  there 
was  a  rush,  as  it  seemed,  of  every  one  in  the 
house.  Flitters  burst  into  the  study  with  the 
whole  company  behind  him.  "  Porter  elected 
without  a  question.  Hinckley  congratulates," 
he  cried.  "Porter!  Porter!  Porter!" 

The  cry  was  taken  up  by  all  present,  ran 
through  the  corridors,  and  swelled  outside  into 
a  long  roar,  renewed  over  and  over  again. 
"  Porter!  Porter!  Porter!  Hurrah  for  Porter! 
We  want  Porter." 

Porter  rose  from  his  chair,  still  holding  the 
letter,  almost  like  a  man  awakened  from  a 
dream.  Folding  his  hands,  with  the  letter  in 
them,  he  bowed  his  head,  and  every  sound  in  the 
room  was  hushed,  while  against  the  background 
of  tumultuous  ecstasy  without  there  came  the 
grave  murmur  of  his  solemn  words :  "  God  save 
the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts." 


THE   END. 


Announcement  Hist 

of  ifrfc  f  ttfam 

Haunters  of  the  Silences.    BY  CHARLES  G. 

D.  ROBERTS,  author  of  "  Red  Fox,"  "  The  Watchers  of 
the  Trails,"  etc. 

Cloth,  one  volume,  with  many  drawings  by  Charles  Liv 
ingston  Bull,  four  of  which  are  in  full  color      .     $2.00 

The  stories  in  Mr.  Roberts's  new  collection  are  the  strong 
est  and  best  he  has  ever  written. 

He  has  largely  taken  for  his  subjects  those  animals  rarely 
met  with  in  books,  whose  lives  are  spent "  In  the  Silences," 
where  they  are  the  supreme  rulers.  Mr.  Roberts  has  writ 
ten  of  them  sympathetically,  as  always,  but  with  fine  regard 
for  the  scientific  truth. 

"  As  a  writer  about  animals,  Mr.  Roberts  occupies  an  enviable 
place.  He  is  the  most  literary,  as  well  as  the  most  imaginative 
and  vivid  of  all  the  nature  writers."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  His  animal  stories  are  marvels  of  sympathetic  science  anr 
literary  exactness."  —New  York  World. 


L.   C.  PAGE  AND  COMPANY'S 


The   Lady  of   the    Blue   Motor.      By 

G.  SIDNEY  PATERNOSTER,  author  of  "  The  Cruise  of 
the  Motor-Boat  Conqueror,"  "  The  Motor  Pirate,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  John  C. 
Frohn $1.50 

The  Lady  of  the  Blue  Motor  is  an  audacious  heroine 
who  drove  her  mysterious  car  at  breakneck  speed.  Her 
plea  for  assistance  in  an  adventure  promising  more  than  a 
spice  of  danger  could  not  of  course  be  disregarded  by  any 
gallant  fellow  motorist.  Mr.  Paternoster's  hero  rose 
promptly  to  the  occasion.  Across  France  they  tore  and 
across  the  English  Channel.  There,  the  escapade  past,  he 
lost  her. 

Mr.  Paternoster,  however,  is  generous,  and  allows  the 
reader  to  follow  their  separate  adventures  until  the  Lady  of 
the  Blue  Motor  is  found  again  and  properly  vindicated  of 
all  save  womanly  courage  and  affection.  A  unique  ro 
mance,  one  continuous  exciting  series  of  adventure. 

Clementina's  Highwayman.    By  ROBERT 

NEILSON  STEPHENS,  author  of  "The  Flight  of  Geor- 
giana,"  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  etc.  • 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .        .        .  ,      .     $1.50 

Mr.  Stephens  has  put  into  his  new  book,  "  Clementina's 
Highwayrran,"  the  finest  qualities  of  plot,  construction,  and 
literary  finish. 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a 
dashing,  sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as 
lovely  and  changeable  as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor 
and  daring. 

The  exquisite  quality  of  Mr.  Stephens's  literary  style 
clothes  the  story  in  a  rich  but  delicate  word-fabric ;  and 
never  before  have  his  setting  and  atmosphere  been  so 
perfect. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


The  Sorceress  Of  Rome.      By  NATHAN   GAL- 
LIZIER,  author  of  "  Castel  del  Monte,"  etc. 
Cloth  decorative,  illustrated          .         .         .         .     $1.50 

The  love-story  of  Otto  III.,  the  boy  emperor,  and  Ste- 
phania,  wife  of  the  Senator  Crescentius  of  Rome,  has 
already  been  made  the  basis  of  various  German  poems  and 
plays. 

Mr.  Gallizier  has  used  it  for  the  main  theme  of  "The 
Sorceress  of  Rome,"  the  second  book  of  his  trilogy  of 
romances  on  the  mediaeval  life  of  Italy.  In  detail  and 
finish  the  book  is  a  brilliant  piece  of  work,  describing 
clearly  an  exciting  and  strenuous  period.  It  possesses  the 
same  qualities  as  "  Castel  del  Monte,"  of  which  the  Chicago 
Record  Herald  said  :  "  There  is  color,  there  is  sumptuous 
word-painting  in  these  pages;  the  action  is  terrific  at  times; 
vividness  and  life  are  in  every  part;  brilliant  descriptions 
entertain  the  reader ;  mystic  scenes  and  prophecies  give  a 
singular  fascination  to  the  tale,  which  is  strong  and  force 
ful  in  its  portrayal." 


Hester  Of  the   Hills.      ByGnovER  CLAY. 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated         .         .         .         .     $1.50 

"  Hester  of  the  Hills  "  has  a  motif  unusual  in  life,  and 
new  in  fiction.  Its  hero,  who  has  only  acquired  his  own 
strength  and  resourcefulness  by  a  lifelong  struggle  against 
constitutional  frailty,  has  come  to  make  the  question  of 
bodily  soundness  his  dominant  thought.  He  resolves  to 
ensure  strong  constitutions  to  his  children  by  marrying  a 
physically  perfect  woman.  After  long  search,  he  finds  this 
ideal  in  Hester,  the  daughter  of  a  "  cracker  squatter,"  of 
the  Ozark  Mountains  of  Missouri.  But,  —  he  forgot  to 
take  into  consideration  that  very  vital  emotion,  love,  which 
played  havoc  with  his  well-laid  plans. 

It  is  an  ingenious  combination  of  practical  realism  and 
imaginative  fiction  worked  out  to  a  thoroughly  delightful 
and  satisfying  climax. 


Z.    C.   PAGE   AND    COMPANY'S 


Prisoners  Of  Fortune.  A  TALE  OF  THE  MASSA 
CHUSETTS  BAY  COLONY.  BY  RUEL  PERLEY  SMITH, 
author  of  "  The  Rival  Campers,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  Frank  T. 
Merrill $1.50 

The  period  of  Mr.  Smith's  story  is  the  beginning  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  when  the  shores  of  the  American  col 
onies  were  harassed  and  the  seas  patrolled  by  pirates  and 
buccaneers.  These  robbed  and  spoiled,  and  often  seized 
and  put  to  death,  the  sailors  and  fishers  and  other  humbler 
folk,  while  their  leaders  claimed  friendship  alike  with  South 
ern  planters  and  New  England  merchants,  —  with  whom 
it  is  said  they  frequently  divided  their  spoils. 

The  times  were  stern  and  the  colonists  were  hardy,  but 
they  loved  as  truly  and  tenderly  as  in  more  peaceful  days. 
Thus,  while  the  hero's  adventures  with  pirates  and  his  search 
for  their  hidden  treasure  is  a  record  of  desperate  encounters 
and  daring  deeds,  his  love-story  and  his  winning  of  sweet 
Mary  Vane  is  in  delightful  contrast. 


The  Rome  Express.     BY  MAJOR  ARTHUR  GRIP- 
FITHS,  author  of  "  The  Passenger  from  Calais,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  A.  O. 
Scott $1.25 

A  mysterious  murder  on  a  flying  express  train,  a  wily 
Italian,  a  charming  woman  caught  in  the  meshes  of  circum 
stantial  evidence,  a  chivalrous  Englishman,  and  a  police 
force  with  a  keen  nose  for  the  wrong  clue,  are  the  ingredi 
ents  from  which  Major  Griffiths  has  concocted  a  clever,  up- 
to-date  detective  story.  The  book  is  bright  and  spirited, 
with  rapid  action,  and  consistent  development  which  brings 
the  story  to  a  logical  and  dramatic  ending. 


LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 


The  Morning  Glory  Club.    BY  GEORGE  A. 

KYLE. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece  by  A.  O. 
Scott $1.25 

The  doings  of  the  Morning  Glory  Club  will  furnish  genu 
ine  amusement  to  the  reader.  Originally  formed  to  "  ele 
vate  "  the  village,  it  quickly  develops  into  an  exchange  for 
town  gossip.  It  has  a  saving  grace,  however,  in  the  person 
of  motherly  Mrs.  Stout,  the  uncultured  but  sweet-natured 
and  pure-minded  village  philosopher,  who  pours  the  oil  of 
her  saneness  and  charity  on  the  troubled  waters  of  discus 
sion  and  condemnation. 

It  is  a  series  of  clear  and  interesting  pictures  of  the  hu 
mor  of  village  life. 


The  Chronicles  of  Martin  Hewitt,  De 
tective.  NEW  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION.  BY  AR 
THUR  MORRISON,  author  of  "  The  Green  Diamond,'* 
"  The  Red  Triangle,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  six  full-page  drawings  by  W.  Kirk- 
patrick $1.50 

The  success  of  Mr.  Morrison's  recent  books,  "  The  Green 
Diamond  "  and  "  The  Red  Triangle,"  has  led  to  an  impera 
tive  demand  for  the  reissue  of  «« The  Chronicles  of  Martin 
Hewitt,"  which  has  been  out  of  print  for  a  number  of  years. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Martin  Hewitt  is  the  detec 
tive  in  "The  Red  Triangle,"  of  whom  the  New  York 
Tribune  said :  "  Better  than  Sherlock  Holmes."  His  ad 
ventures  in  the  London  slums  were  of  such  a  nature  that  the 
Philadelphia  North  American  said:  "  The  reader  who  has 
a  grain  of  fancy  or  imagination  may  be  defied  to  lay  this 
book  down  once  he  has  begun  it  until  the  last  word  is 
reached." 


6  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY'S  LIST  OF  NEW  FICTION 

Mystery   Island.    By  EDWARD  H.  HURST. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece        .     $1.50 

A  hunting  camp  on  a  swampy  island  in  the  Florida  Ever 
glades  furnishes  the  background  for  this  present-day  tale. 

By  the  murder  of  one  of  their  number,  the  secret  of 
egress  from  the  island  is  lost,  and  the  campers  find  them 
selves  marooned. 

Cut  off  from  civilization,  conventional  veneer  soon  wears 
away.  Love,  hate,  and  revenge  spring  up,  and  after  the 
sterner  passions  have  had  their  sway  the  man  and  the  woman 
are  left  alone  to  fulfil  their  own  destiny. 

While  there  is  much  that  is  unusual  in  the  plot  and  its 
development,  Mr.  Hurst  has  handled  his  subject  with  fine 
delicacy,  and  the  tale  of  their  love  on  the  beautiful  little 
island  is  told  with  deep  sympathy  and  feeling. 


The  Flying  Cloud.  By  MORLEY  ROBERTS, 
author  of  "  The  Promotion  of  the  Admiral,"  "  Rachel 
Marr,"  "  The  Idlers,"  etc. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  a  colored  frontispiece        .    $1.50 

Mr.  Roberts's  new  book  is  much  more  than  a  ripping 
good  sea  story  such  as  might  be  expected  from  the  author 
of  "  The  Promotion  of  the  Admiral."  In  "  The  Flying 
Cloud"  the  waters  and  the  winds  are  gods  personified. 
Their  every  mood  and  phase  are  described  in  words  of  tell 
ing  force.  There  is  no  world  but  the  waste  of  waters. 

Mr.  Roberts  glories  and  exults  in  the  mystery,  the  pas 
sion,  the  strength  of  the  elements,  as  did  the  Viking  chron 
iclers  of  old.  He  understands  them  and  loves  them  and 
interprets  them  as  no  other  writer  has  heretofore  done. 
The  book  is  too  big  for  conventional  phrases.  It  needs 
Mr.  Roberts's  own  richness  of  imagery  and  masterly  ex 
pression  to  describe  adequately  the  word-pictures  in  this 
epic  of  wind  and  waves. 


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